Outside Looking In
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Anthology of those who aren't Winchesters, always outside, forever looking in.
1. A Funeral of Ravens

**Each of these will have warnings and a rating. Each is an outsider point of view, meaning none shall be John, Mary, Dean, or Sam. The pairings are always marked.**

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* * *

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**Title**: A Funeral of Ravens

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for "All Hell Breaks Loose"

**Pairings**: Dean/Sam

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 800

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: Um… yeah. Sorry?

* * *

There's hope, somewhere. 

But not here.

--

She does everything by rote, salting the bodies and burning the building down around them. She can't let them linger—not like this. It sears deep into her soul; no mother should have to outlive her children.

Surely, there's hope out there. Other hunters had to escape the massacre. Had to survive.

She always fussed at John for his quest. Now she has her own.

And it aches, just like she'd always suspected it would.

--

Bobby's gone. And Missouri. Joshua and Nathaniel, Megana—everyone. Even Gregory, high up in the mountains.

She's the only one left.

--

There is nothing to do but head west, towards the sinking sun. She passes through shells of towns, through blackened buildings and rotting corpses; nothing escapes them. Not children and newborns, not crones and grandmothers.

Dogs do, and cats. Horses. Serpents. Ravens and crows are everywhere, darkening the sky. She watches their flocks block out the clouds and whispers, "Murders and funerals." It's bitter, maddened laughter that tumbles from her lips.

They kill what used to be their kind and leave everything else alive. They killed her baby girl and her foundling boy, and all her friends. But they let kittens prowl and puppies frolic, and they embrace wrapped in a snake's coils.

She used to love those boys, John's sons. They were her hope, once.

But now she sees them for what they are. For what they've always been. And it's too late.

It's too late.

--

She hits the ocean and stops, stares out over the water. The sun is setting and a cool wind blows from the waves.

She still hears the screams. They blend with the roar of the ocean, the slap of the rolling waves on the sand. The salt scent mingles with the salt she used to set her children free.

Tears prick at her eyes and she slaps them away. Now is not the time to break down, to mourn. Now is the time for vengeance.

Now is the time to hunt them boys down.

--

The crows caw overhead. Dogs roam the streets, gnawing on what used to be humans. Families. She barely keeps herself from retching as she sees a little girl's corpse being tugged between two collies.

She doesn't have the time to stop and bury them all, to say the rites that'll let them move on. She has to keep going, following the destruction. After it's done, she'll come back.

After it's done.

--

She follows them to the Gulf of Mexico and they let her see them on the beach, naked as newborns, cavorting in the waves without a care in the world.

There's a cougar stretched out, sunning, and a small pack of wolves playing chase with the water. There're crows and ravens, and even a golden eagle, flying above them. Dean has a cobra wrapped around his left arm and Sam has a black mamba coiled about his torso, its head resting on his shoulder.

She's going to be sick.

She has the Colt and one bullet, and that's not enough. Not nearly enough. She wants to sob, to fall to her knees and ask why they didn't kill her, too, why they let her see the bodies of her babies, of her friends, of all those people between Nebraska and here.

"Shh," Dean says, lightly touching her cheek, taking the Colt from her slack grip. She's come this far, and she's going to fail, and she hates him so much she can't see.

Sam reaches out to trace her jaw and leans down, presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "There was always a reason, Ellen," he whispers, his right hand tightening on her shoulder. "Even when I couldn't see it."

She jerks back but doesn't go far, and the mamba slithers over to her. "And what's that?" she asks, voice barely a shade of what it used to be.

His smile is dark and dangerous, his green eyes fathomless.

Dean kisses her lips and a cold breeze blows off the Gulf.

--

There's hope, somewhere. A hunter or two escaped the massacre, families are locked down deep and secure. The destruction didn't leave America, after all.

Ellen isn't alive to see it spread, though. She doesn't know just how far Sam's power stretches, can't hear Dean's laugh as he slaughters children in front of their parents. Doesn't see Dean's glee as he feeds husbands to his pack as the wives scream for mercy. Can't feel the vibrations of Sam's anger and joy as cities collapse and nations beg God for aid.

God has no aid to give. A funeral of ravens flies overhead and a murder of crows caw in the distance. There is hope, somewhere.

But not here.


	2. Watcher

**Title**: Watcher

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Home"; AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 405

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She watches them, John's boys. Sam is powerful, dangerously so, but Dean—

She tries to read his mind, to see into his soul, just to be sure, but she can't get past his surface thoughts. An opaque shield blocks her, the best she's ever come across.

Sam is an open book; his mind is wide. Everything he is reveals itself before her basest of searches. But Dean—something in him snarls at her, gets up her defenses. Something about him frightens her, moreso even than Sam, whose power nearly outshines the sun.

Sam, the dear boy, is floundering beneath his gifts, unsure and unsteady. He's lost, wondering which way is up, where to turn.

She knows that more is coming, much more. It is written on the air around him. The thing that killed Mary, killed Jessica—it is not through with Sam yet. She wonders where Dean fits in. Where he is in the killer's plans.

She snaps at him to cover her fear. Mocks him for Jenny's benefit, for Sam's entertainment. Only his surface thoughts are available to her, his nervousness about being back in Lawrence, his fear for his father, his uncertainty of Sam and how he can help—but if she tries to go deeper, she's forcibly thrown out.

She doesn't think he knows. Doubts he has any idea, any inkling. And that scares her even more. To have such power and not know—a part of her wonders how the world still remains, but he must have some control.

So she watches them as they work, watches them interact, more than brothers, more than partners—they're friends. Sam's feelings for Dean are tinted with anger, with fear, with disappointment, but over them all soars a love so deep and true, she doubts it could ever be broken.

o0o

After Mary saves her sons, Missouri reaches out again, tries to feel Dean's soul like she can Sam's.

His gaze flickers over to her, the hint of a smirk twisting his lips. He says goodbye with a touch of irony.

She can't even hear his surface thoughts anymore.

She reaches for Sam's mind only to feel herself slapped back. Her eyes shoot from Sam to Dean, Dean whose smirk is full blown now and Sam whose eyes are still innocent.

Well.

She watches them drive away with fear blossoming in her chest.

She wonders if John knows and if it's too late.


	3. A Single Year

**Title**: A Single Year

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "All Hell Breaks Loose" pt 2

**Pairings**: hinted Lucifer/Crossroad's demon, hinted Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of view**: third

* * *

His soul will be beautiful to collect, and one she'll keep for herself. He will give her prestige, a great deal of power in the lower levels—as the demon who got Dean Winchester... oh, it'll be a grand day, the day she takes him.

A single year. For her, it will pass swiftly. For him, it will linger, that final day looming like a festering wound that no amount of doctoring can heal.

She is one of the old ones, merely a millennia younger than her Milord. As such, she has chosen a gender—female, one of Dean's few weaknesses. Every time she speaks with him—one of the handful of demons who _has_ spoken to him and survived—she wears nearly the same form: a lovely girl with dark hair and green eyes.

Were she anything but what she is, she'd wonder what that means. But she _is_ what she is, and as such—she knows.

It will not just be Dean's soul she claims on that day. With him will come baby brother, and then—Hell is hers. Finally her Milord will crown her as His consort and the world will tremble before her.

One, single year.


	4. Damned Boys

**Title**: Damned Boys  
**Disclaimer**: narrator's mine. that's it.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Scarecrow"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 510

**Point of view**: first

* * *

It wasn't that hard, really, to ignore the screams, and they weren't from our town. Not like they're ours, our kind.

Honestly, our town needed to live, right? A sacrifice every now and then, just once a year—it's worth it, right? Well, **_was_**. Until them. **_Damned_** boys.

People came poking around, before, every decade or so, looking for their friend, sister, brother, cousin—whoever our Lord took. We were always able to steer them away, to placate them, convince them to look elsewhere.

We were just a normal town, truly. We were lucky, is all. Spring lasted all year, our water never ran dry, not in a century. We never brought in outsiders; they wouldn't understand.

The legend passed through family: the Lord and the Tree, the Blessing. Protect the Tree, feed the Lord—easy. One man, one woman.

Old Sarah even cast a spell to have people pass through every year, all those decades ago. It's a big world; is it so hard to fathom a couple would want to take a road trip? And it was purely luck, every time, that their trip coincided with the cycle.

Really, we **_aren't_** bad people. We just wanted our way of life. That's the way it's always been. And screams are easy to tune out.

But that **_damned_** boy—what right did he have? Poking his nose in, sniffing around—he ruined the ritual, took the couple from the Orchard. And then he **_dared_** show his face at the college, researching the Lord! What **_nerve_**!

Perhaps Emily is one we could have felt guilt for, but she isn't really one of ours, either. One man, one woman. That's what the Lord calls for.

And that is what He took, in an ironically bittersweet way. Really, it's humorous, if you look at the right way.

They were His Priest and Priestess, the keepers of His lore, the ones who insured the couples went to His Orchard. But somehow another appeared, **_another_** boy who couldn't keep his nose out of other people's business.

And the Lord was most displeased, as He showed when He took His most devoted disciples.

The screams had never been as hard to ignore as that night.

Now it's a ghost town. Everyone's gone. Oh, we went back a few days later to that cursed Orchard, just to see—the Tree is scorched, but still It stands.

Except, who could stay in this town and pay the price of blood anymore? The Lord has tasted some of ours—who can be sure He doesn't now crave it?

And so they all fled, all but me, for I am old. I've lived here my whole life, and here I shall die. I have nearly a year to decide, after all. I can be His last sacrifice, try to placate Him—if He'll take just one.

But those **_damned_** boys. What right did they have? It's not like we killed them ourselves, and they would have died anyway. Everyone does.

Oh, well. It'll be those meddling kids' time soon enough, I'm sure.


	5. the sad song starts to play

**Title**: the sad song starts to play

**Disclaimer**: the kids and wife are mine; just for fun. Title from "The Cowboy Rides Away" by George Strait.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up "Folsom Prison Blues"

**Pairings**: Henriksen/Henriksen's wife

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 890

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She wonders when it went from just a job to an obsession, and wishes she could remember. He brings home the files and she sifts through them as he sleeps—not often, anymore.

Dean and Sam Winchester. Brothers, dangerous, thieves, rapists, murderers: these are the men who've stolen away her husband, and she hates them to her core.

o0o

She's out grocery shopping one Saturday near the end of 2007. She grabs for a box of crackers on the top shelf and knocks loose a couple others. They fall towards her head, but a large, tanned hand grabs them out of the air.

"Thank you," she says, dropping her chosen box in her cart before looking at the man with a smile.

He's young and tall and broad, with the most beautiful smile and kindest green eyes she's ever seen.

"No problem," he says, voice soft. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

His face is familiar, so familiar, and she watches as he walks off. He meets up with another man at the end of the aisle—and she only sees his profile(_gorgeous_), but it's familiar, too.

She shrugs and finishes shopping.

o0o

It hits her that night as she tucks Danielle into bed.

_Holy fucking shit. _

She just met Sam Winchester. Was twenty feet from _Dean_ Winchester.

She should tell Victor, she _knows_ she should. They're dangerous, criminals, and so close to home, so close to her daughters…

_Have a nice day, ma'am. _

She _knows_ depraved men. As a social worker, she's seen every evil humanity can conjure. She kisses Dani's forehead and quietly wishes her baby girl goodnight. The Winchesters' file reads like a textbook for insanity, but she met the man. He was worn-out and weary, but no killer.

She makes sure Lindsay's in bed before meeting Victor in the den. He has a rare night off and he's combing through his Winchester notes.

She should tell him. She doesn't.

o0o

She comes home for lunch one Tuesday in early 2008 to Dean Winchester in her kitchen.

"What the fuck are you doin' in my house?" she demands, regretting sharply that she'd told Victor _no guns where the girls can find them_.

He holds out his hands placatingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he says, voice soft and low. "I just needed to get a feel for Henriksen."

She's scrambling in her purse for her cell when he moves, and his grip is iron on her wrist, his other hand covering her mouth.

Even through her hyperventilating, she can tell he goes out of his way to be gentle. It helps her calm down. "You weren't supposed to be home until three," he mutters. "Fuck, I'm so fucking fucked."

He deposits her on the couch and kneels over her, still covering her mouth. "I'm gonna let go of you, okay? But don't scream." She nods and he slowly moves back, eyes wary. He looks like a trapped animal.

"Why haven't you killed me?" She keeps her voice soothing, in the tone she uses on Dani.

He flinches and starts to say, "I don't kill wo—" before cutting himself off.

She stares at him. "Victor's file says differently."

That gets a chuckle and he says bitterly, "I'll bet it does."

His phone rings, some rock music. He answers, "Yeah?" and is silent for a moment. Then, "Okay, see you there."

He sheepishly meets her gaze. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Henriksen," he tells her. "You weren't supposed to come home."

Dean Winchester takes off for the back door and is gone before she blinks. Her hand automatically reaches for her cell, to call Victor or the cops or her mama—but she pauses.

A killer, according to Victor, was just in her home and had her at his mercy. A man who'd tortured, raped, and killed women was careful to _not_ hurt her.

She should call Victor. Tell him that his obsession, the reason they haven't even had a real conversation in months, had been in their house.

She's lost her appetite, so she goes back to work.

o0o

A week later and she's out walking Doc, Lindsay's mutt. Some guard-dog he'd turned out to be, welcoming Dean Winchester into his territory. Her cell rings and she answers, "Henriksen."

"Why didn't you turn him in?"

It's been three months since she heard that quiet, soft voice, but she recognizes it. "Sam Winchester," she breathes, heart stopping.

"If you'd told your husband, he wouldn't stop 'til Dean was dead." Sam pauses. "So, why?"

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, and Doc pulls her along. She finally settles on, "He didn't hurt me."

Sam's silent for a moment and she listens to him breathe. He says, "Thank you, ma'am. We won't bother you again."

o0o

She, Victor, and the girls are on a camping trip in June of 2009. Victor and Lindsay go fishing; Victor doesn't come back.

She vows to move Heaven and Hell, if need be, to find her husband, and she finally meets a man named Bobby Singer who tells her he knows someone who can help.

Lindsay and Dani are with Victor's parents and Doc. She has everything invested in this quest. They'd almost been a family again. She and Victor were on the mend.

She has to get him back.

Dean and Sam Winchester walk through Bobby's door, and she laughs.


	6. Dangerous

**Title: **Dangerous

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 2; AU after "Hunted"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 560

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She's been around dangerous men since before she remembers. She knows the type, can see 'em coming from a mile away. She knows how to deal with them, to defuse the situation before it becomes a situation.

Most men, looking at her—take her for granted. Think they can handle her, take her down. She's never needed to prove herself, because they think it's already done.

She held a gun on Dean Winchester the first time they ever met. She held a gun and punched his nose and thought she had his measure.

She'd been wrong before, but never this wrong.

o0o

Sam told Mom about the demon and the dreams and the powers he couldn't control. She wasn't supposed to hear, but she did.

She glanced over and saw Dean's face, his bearing. Everything about him screamed _danger_, screamed _killer_.

Briefly, she wondered if he'd ever killed a human. But then Mom called her over and they talked about what Sam's news could mean.

o0o

Most hunters she'd met held the motto _If_ _it's supernatural, we kill it_ close to their hearts. They'd lost something to the otherworld, someone they loved. She understood that sentiment, because Daddy died on a hunt.

But Sam—she knew him. He was a nice guy. A good hunter. A normal guy who'd been raised to be one of the best.

And he wasn't. He was something _other_, something a dark hand had created. After, she couldn't quite look at him the same way.

When some hunters started talking, she couldn't help but overhear. She crept close, listening to their conversation about the Winchester boys, about what Walker had learned, about what now had to be done.

She snuck back to her room and sat in the dark for hours, praying for sleep to come. It didn't.

o0o

She's been around dangerous men from since before she remembers. From the moment she met Dean Winchester and held a gun to his back, till the last time she saw him and told him his father had killed hers, she thought she had his measure.

A good man, good hunter—decent, honorable—dangerous.

_Dangerous_.

Dangerous doesn't even begin to cover it.

o0o

Walker died first. He'd been trailing some fangs and vanished. A couple of hunters went looking for him, but he was never found.

Next went the trio following the Winchesters around. They checked in with their home-base and were never heard from again.

That's when the whispers started. She listened to the talk and thought about calling Dean. But, if Sam—

If Sam really was _other_, then wasn't he evil? Didn't he _have_ to be?

The hunter creed echoed through her head: _If it's supernatural, we kill it. _

"We kill it," she whispered. "Before it kills us."

o0o

Those words haunt her now. Because she was wrong about Dean Winchester, so wrong—

Danger. Killer.

Dangerous.

She wants to ask why, to beg for mercy. Instead she screams in fury, "If it's supernatural, _we kill it_!"

His eyes are calm, at peace, when he says, "It's not that simple. There're shades of gray, sweetheart."

o0o

She's been around dangerous men from since before she remembers. The roughest, toughest hunters pass through the Roadhouse and continue on their ways. She knows their kind.

She thought she knew danger. Now she knows she was wrong.


	7. Tricksie and False

**Title**: Tricksie and False

**Disclaimer**: not my characters. just for fun. Title from _The Lord of the Rings_.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to "Tall Tales"

**Pairings**: -hee- none, really

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 530

**Point of view**: first

**Notes**: Does _anyone_ deny the Trickster had a crush on Dean?

* * *

Out of every human I ever met, I gotta say—that Winchester boy is the funnest. Wait, sorry: most fun. Hmmp. Proper grammar, whatever. I'm a Trickster. Whadda I care 'bout correctness? 

Anyway. Pretty one, that boy. I seen a lotta people in my centuries, and I ain't _ever_ seen one his equal. His brother's no slouch, either.

I coulda killed 'em, easy. There've been quite a few hunters who've gone after me over the years; I've learned to see one when I know one—wait. Flip that. I _know_ one when I _see_ one. That's better. Anyway. The two'a of them _ooze_ hunterness. Heh. Ooze. I've always liked that word.

'specially the older one, Dean. He's a good actor, one of the better—not my equal, a'course, but I've had a long time to perfect the art—and he fooled me but _good_.

_Both_ of 'em did. One lil'fight and I believed I'd won. Good thing I've always been paranoid. Otherwise, I'd be dead and _that's_ no fun.

Playing with them boys was the most fun I've had in a long time. I'd heard of 'em before I met 'em—their name makes the rounds at least once a week. Cursed frequently, but sometimes said in awe. Together, they're unbeatable, as many would attest.

But that's together, mind. Separately, according to that freaky Scarecrow, they're far weaker.

Unfortunately, they learned their lesson.

Anyway. Why do I keep wandering from my point? You'd think I'da learned how to tell a story over the decades.

Where was I? Hmm… oh, well.

When I was younger, my pride woulda goaded me into goin' after 'em, to teach 'em what it _really_ means to go toe-to-toe with a Trickster. But I, too, can learn.

So long as I keep my head down and move on, they'll continue to believe they defeated me. It might get boring, for a while, but I'm a patient man. Man? Heh, figure of speech.

Maybe I should head to Africa for a vacation, look up the Spider.

But, _damn_, that boy was _fine_. Hmm… maybe in a few months I could pop in again, get them to fight some more. They were cute in the midst of a quarrel.

And they wonder why people think they're a couple? The looks they share—I've seen married folk who glanced at each other with less love. Hell, even _Aphrodite_ could learn a thing or two from them!

Ooh, 'dite. After the Spider, I should track her down. Been awhile. She was a lovely girl—equal to that Dean kid in beauty.

Hey, if the two of them had a kid, he or she could rule the world. You heard of Helen, that bride of Troy? Yeah—Dean and 'dite's kid would be _that_ pretty. Maybe prettier.

Wonder if I could get the Spider to help me play with the Winchesters. He's gotta be gettin' tired of Africa and her endless wars. Dean and Sammy should be a welcome distraction.

Oh, yes—the Spider, Dean, Sam, and me—we could have some fun. And if I invite 'dite—_oh_… don't mind my cackle, kid. I'm just excited, is all.

Wouldn't you be?


	8. Faith

**Title**: Faith

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 2; AU

**Pairings**: mentions of John/Mary; very lightly implied Sam/Dean

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 360

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

They believe in her because they want to. They want someone else to be in charge, someone else to carry all the responsibility; they want someone to tell them what to do.

John is dead, after all, and Sam listened to his commands despite all complaints. If the general has proven to be trustworthy and true, they will follow every instruction to the letter.

Because she claims to have been their father's friend, because her words prove accurate, and because she shows them respect, they believe in her.

Their mistake.

o0o

And she watches them chase the demon around, two little boys looking for a reason and something to kill.

She watches her daughter attempt wooing the elder; doomed to failure, that enterprise is, and she can't wait.

There's something about John's boys even he didn't understand, but she knows. She looks and so she sees—they belong to each other. No one else will ever come between them, can't—they are blood and bone and loss, woven together by flame.

They have faith in so little. Everything has proven false by sundown, usually, but they keep on looking to her.

They are his sons, aren't they?

But, more than that—they are Mary's.

o0o

_And therein_, she thinks, watching them prowl about the Roadhouse, itching for something to kill, _therein lies the fun._

Little sister thought she could escape the Calling, but all she did was curse her sons.

Family always comes in the end. And Mary fled far too soon to ever truly leave the nest; but, Ellen decides, as Sam leans down to whisper in his brother's ear, it was for the best.

After all, if Mary had never run, neither of these two prizes would exist.

o0o

Demons always fuck everything up. But this one, well… maybe it did something right, push come to shove. Demons always screw everything all to Hell, but shoving these two onto their present course?

She wonders if it has any inkling what its done, and supposes it hasn't.

o0o

They believe in her because they want to. Because they need to.

Their mother was the same.


	9. a thousand men had searched in vain

**Title**: a thousand men had searched in vain 

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Jacob's Dream" performed by Allison Krauss. 

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Bloody Mary" 

**Pairings**: none 

**Rating**: PG 

**Wordcount**: 100 

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_ She punishes those who feel guilt for a death no one else knows about. After she is freed from her mirror, given a phantom body, her power is unleashed and she lashes at the men within reach. _

_ In the eyes of one she sees that beautiful blonde, dead from warnings that went unheeded. In the other—_

_ He holds up a mirror and Mary sees herself, sees everyone she's ever destroyed. The guilt swells and breaks over her head, swamping her with decades of memories. She wishes she could still cry, but all she can do is groan and sink inward. _


	10. last goodbye's the hardest one to say

**Title**: last goodbye's the hardest one to say 

**Disclaimer**: John, Dean, Sam, and the Metallicar aren't mine; just for fun. Title from "The Cowboy Rides Away" by George Strait. 

**Warnings**: none 

**Pairings**: implied Dean/OFC 

**Rating**: PG 

**Wordcount**: 100 

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_What you see isn't what you get,_ she thinks as he walks away, to his father in that car, to his little brother bouncing in the backseat, to a life she can't understand. She wonders if he'll be safe, if he'll be happy, if any dreams he has can be reached. 

But it's not her place to ask him to stay—and he wouldn't, anyway. He has a destiny, on the backroads of America, a future she can never comprehend. 

And this boy—man, hunter, killer, savior—is meant for so much _more_. 

_Good luck_, she thinks, and he's gone. 


	11. Specter

**Title**: Specter

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for second season

**Pairings**: implied one-sided Jo/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 420

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He looks like his mother, from what she can tell. Not much of John in his face or his build—the younger, though, she sees John in every part of his bearing, in everything about him. 

She understands Jo's crush on the boy. Someone would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not understand. He's kind, in a gruff sort of way, and he cares. He really, truly cares in a way John never did for anyone but Mary or his boys.

She wants to pull him into her arms, to smooth his brow, to erase the twenty-three years of hardness. She wants him to smile, to laugh, to be the man he should have been.

But he would not let her, and her pride, her pain, her fury, is too much. She looks at him and sees his father. Sees the man who killed her husband with his negligence.

Sam is the one who reminds her of John, with his body and his face, with the way he speaks. He acts as well as John did, plays the caring man, but she sees it for what it is.

Sam cares for his brother, and his brother alone. He cared for someone, a blond beauty, the grapevine says, but she died the same way as his mother; and his heart hardened. Sam is an actor, like his father, but his brother—

She looks into his eyes and cannot deny it. He is as beautiful inside as he is physically. And she wants only to comfort him. She wants to pull him close and let him comfort her.

But despite everything, despite all she knows—John's ghost hovers next to him. Overwhelms his edges. She looks at him and sees John.

But he has his mother's eyes, his mother's face—according to John, his mother's temperament, his mother's soul. John spoke of Mary with a love as strong as the day they married. From his words, she could see Mary in her mind, picture the woman—looking at Mary's son, she knows what John meant.

But it's not enough. It'll never be enough. John's boys are hunters, rapidly approaching the edge. And Sam's gifts only mean they can never leave the life.

Sam tried once. Watching him pace around the Roadhouse, she knows he'll never try again.

And Dean watches him. Always has, always will. Until he breathes his last, and probably after.

She wishes she could look past his father. He'd be a great man to know.


	12. Like Father, Like Son

**Title**: Like Father, Like Son

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Folsom Prison Blues"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point of view**: third

* * *

Maura barely remembers the man that pulled her and Mommy from the cave. She was sobbing and Mommy moaning, both splattered with blood and gore. Daddy was never found, and Maura remembers how sad the man sounded when he apologized to Mommy for getting there too late.

Mommy nodded and pulled Maura close, thanking him anyway.

-

Looking into Dean Winchester's earnest hazel eyes, she thinks back to that night, to the man with the sad gaze. They look alike, though she can't recall that man's name. They have the same bearing.

So she listens to him, _really_ listens; there's truth in his voice. He's a criminal, but not a killer. Whatever he's up to, whatever he needs that information for—

The man's face flashes in her mind, Mommy's screams and Mommy's cries. Maura looks at Dean, looks hard and long, and knows what she'll do.

-

It could ruin her, that she helped them. Hell, no doubt about it: her career in law is gone.

She calls up Mom after leaving Hendrickson a false trail and asks her to lunch the next day.

Mom says yes and they chat for a bit, then Mom tells her to go home and sleep.


	13. Thief

**Title**: Thief

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: NotDean, Sam, Rebecca, and Dean aren't my characters. I wrote this because I'm twisted and they're pretty.

**Warnings**: AU for "Skin"; minute non-con; character death

**Pairings**: slash of the NotDean/Sam variety

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point of view**: third

* * *

He has his hands tight around Sam's long, lean throat. Sam's body is coiled beneath his, but the boy's hurt, tired, aching—weak. Sam's fading fast, slowing; the light in his eyes—rage, pain, fear—is going out, swiftly.

He wets his lips, leans down to nip at Sam's mouth, licks his way across Sam's face. He keeps his fingers tight, cutting off sweet, precious air.

He has always loved watching them die. It's such a pleasure, a turn-on; if he hadn't already been hard from the fight, watching Sam's life bleed out of his puppy-dog eyes would've done it, so easy.

He pulls his hands away and leans down to bite Sam's neck, hard enough to break the skin. "Bye, Sammy," he whispers and rolls off, smoothly rises to his feet.

This is his favorite skin yet, the elder Winchester brother. He'll keep it a long time.

But first—best to leave before Dean arrives. Time to get the hell out of Dodge.

With one final, fond look towards Sam's body, he exits plainly through the front door, locking it behind him. He easily slips into the driver's seat of Dean's sweet ride and pulls away from Rebecca's house.


	14. when all we wanted was the dream

**Title**: when all we wanted was the dream

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Wait" by Sarah McLachlan.

**Warnings**: slight AU; spoilers for season two

**Pairings**: Bill/Ellen

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 750

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She remembers him vaguely, as a solemn little boy with eyes only for the baby. He was such a serious child, those few days she cared for him and Sammy, never letting his brother out of his sight. Jo herself was a newborn, but Bill said he owed John and they had to help.

_Please, babe_, Bill had pled. _Just a couple'a days. I gotta do this with Johnny_. She'd nodded her assent, studying the two little boys, cradling Jo close.

Bill kissed her hard and walked out the door, on John's heels, and she had three babies to deal with instead of just one.

Dean never left Sam's side, not for anything. He never spoke, either, just kept his eyes on her or Sam, always on the lookout for a threat.

Bill and John came back a week later, triumphant and smiling. After John took his boys and left, Bill told her, _I haven't seen Johnny smile like that since he first wed Mary. _

o0o

When Jo's all of three, Tony enters the world shrieking and howling. Jo loves her little brother, promising Ellen and Bill to always look after him.

Ellen remembers that solemn little boy and tells her daughter to just be Tony's friend.

o0o

Bill dies in the autumn after Tony's seventh birthday, on a solo hunt. He'd sworn it'd be his last, that once it was over, he'd be home for good.

The night Ellen learns that Bill's dead, she curls up in their bed with their children and sobs.

o0o

John comes by not long after, sons grown large by his side. Dean's still silent but Sam's into everything, a welcome distraction for Jo and Tony. John sets Dean to watching them, keeping the younger kids safe, and pulls Ellen from her misery with stories about Bill from the war.

The Winchesters stay for the better part of a month and Ellen's sorry to see them go.

o0o

Ellen doesn't see Dean or Sam for years, though John swings by now and again. Jo and Tony grow, and she teaches them to shoot. Jo wants to go to school, but Tony just wants to hunt.

She wishes he'd pick another path, but he is his father's son. She sends him to Caleb for guidance and doesn't see him for months at a time.

o0o

When Jo's twenty-one, John's sons break into the Roadhouse. Tony's still with Caleb, out hunting something; she hasn't spoken to him in five months, hasn't seen him in six.

She doesn't know them as John's boys, at first; they've grown so much, have changed so much—but then she hears their names, sees how Dean watches over Sam, and she knows.

From Dean's bearing and Sam's expression, she also knows that John is gone. She offers her condolences—Bill's been dead for eleven years, but his loss still aches—and Dean snipes at her, his words and tone telling her to back off.

He isn't a solemn little boy anymore, isn't quiet or muted. He's dangerous and capable, bright and loud. If she hadn't seen him as a child with her own eyes, she wouldn't believe he'd ever been that boy.

While they're still there, waiting for Ash's information, Tony walks through the door. Dean is lightly flirting with Jo—nothing truly serious, either because he's still shaken by John's death or he knows Ellen'd castrate him—and Sam's talking with an old, grizzled hunter in the corner.

Tony takes in the bar at a glance, Ellen sees, cataloguing where everyone is and who might be a threat. He's all of eighteen and already a hunter. He hugs her and Jo, kissing them both, but his eyes never leave Dean.

_They're John Winchester's sons, _Ellen tells him. Living with Caleb, Tony's definitely heard the stories of one of the most respected hunters in the United States. She doesn't know if he'd figured out that Uncle Johnny was the same man, but when he meets her gaze, she sees the deep sadness.

_Caleb told me he'd passed_, Tony says and she nods.

o0o

Dean and Sam leave the next day, heading back to Bobby's. _Ya'll are welcome anytime, _she tells them as the go.

Sam smiles. Dean nods. Neither of them says a word.

Ellen puts Jo and Tony to work restocking the bar; she sits at a table and stares at the corner where, years before, a solemn little boy huddled beside his baby brother and watched the world with wary eyes.

Not much has changed.


	15. Understanding

**Title**: Understanding

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Devil's Trap"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 300

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

Watching them, you think you might understand about love. Father has explained it to you before, as best he could, but it still remained an abstract. You replay your host's memories, look at her family, and you still don't understand. 

You have never been human, but Father was. He knows. He feels. You adore him, yet you do not love him. You would sacrifice yourself for him, for his cause, but you don't think it's love. It's respect, maybe.

But they, the brothers, Winchesters, _enemy_—every word they spoke to each other, every look they shared, every glancing touch…

You feel your death approaching, know there will be no reprieve this time, and finally comprehend something no true demon should be able to.

You always jeered at humans and their paltry emotions, and your host could not understand why.

But you had never been human. Demons do not have emotions.

Dean Winchester snarls in your host's face **_I lied_** and you feel fear, anger—shock. He looks up at his brother, and even through the rage he feels towards you, you still see the love of his brother.

You've never felt love except through the girl's memories. Suddenly, you wish you could.

There will be no escape from this, or his burning hazel eyes. And even if Father loves you, you know you've just been sacrificed for his plans.

Regret is a paltry human emotion, and beyond you. But satisfaction—you can feel that.

Even though he used you like this, to get that pathetic brat, even though he loves his crusade more than he ever loved you, he will avenge you.

You meet Dean's gaze just before Sam finishes his chant and you understand him. As you're torn from her, thrown into an abyss you'll never escape, satisfaction nearly drowns you.

He's killed you. But Father will make him bleed for it.


	16. And a Cloak of Purple

**Title**: And a Cloak of Purple(With a Pair of Wings)

**Disclaimer**: the boys aren't mine

**Warnings**: none, really

**Pairings**: nada

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1919

**Notes**: wing!fic.

* * *

She's always been a mischievous sprite. As the youngest grandchild of the Firelord, she's wanted for nothing. Her family gives her everything she requests, and more besides. 

Soon, of course, like all spoiled young things, she grows bored. She's only a few centuries old, still a baby, and the Palace of Flame has grown stifling for such an inquisitive child. She's explored every nook and cranny, been to each floor, sussed out the secrets—and, like all Heirs of the Inferno, she can travel between the realms with ease.

The Firelord has ruled for longer than any of the Fairefolk can count, unchallenged. He made peace with the other three elementals—the Windlady, the King of Earth, and the Sea-Son. His favorite daughter even married the Earth, cementing that alliance: no way the Firelord would threaten his daughter.

And as a Child of Flame and Dirt, the Firelord's youngest, most beloved grandchild, only her brother is her equal. She is a twice-powered elemental, daughter of Earth and Fire, and when she slips between the realms, it takes her family a long while to unravel where she's gone because her passing left the threads in such a tangle.

And by then, the mischief has been done.

-

At first, Yvena just wanders, a few sparkling lights, purple and orange and blue and gold—the color of fire. This realm is interesting, the people large and loud, nowhere near as gifted as the ones at home.

When she decides she wants to interact with these large folk, Yvena shifts form. She looks around, trying to decide on what skin to wear. She settles on a woman of medium height with dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair—completely the opposite of her original shape. She wanders awkwardly on two legs for a bit before growing used to it; she misses her wings, but not enough to ruin the game by wearing them.

Yvena tries some human food; it tastes wild and full, like honey and paprika, like Flame itself—jambalaya, the server calls it, and Yvena eats three helpings. She asks Mandy for the recipe, wondering if it can be made at home, eyes wide and sweet, and Mandy melts like everyone else Yvena has ever known.

She walks out of the 'diner' fuller than she's ever been—on jambalaya and cheesecake—with the directions to make both tucked away in the air. Yvena wanders up and down the streets, unafraid; she doesn't realize that her petite body draws both gazes and impure thoughts, that she created the form of a woman no more than twenty, who looks young and helpless, who can't fight her way out of a paper bag.

Not that Yvena knows what a paper bag is.

Appearances are deceiving, of course, but Yvena doesn't think to use her gifts because she's never been threatened before.

So when three human men surround her a little way from the main street, at first she feels no fear. Back home, the entire populace watches out for her, takes care of her, enjoys making her happy. Grandpapa, the Firelord, and Papa, the King of Earth, have ensured since her conception in the Wheel of Flame that she would be safe and beloved. Yvena, because of her experiences back home, does not know what the men want—elementals do not have relations as humans do.

The largest—nearly twice as tall as Yvena's woman-shape---enters her space and touches her shoulder, calling her, "Pretty-pretty." Yvena just looks at him, curious as always, eager to learn.

The smallest, still a head taller than her, grips her arm, pulling at her shirt.

Then the third one grabs her face and shoves his lips onto hers.

Revulsion sweeps through her: Fairefolk do not kiss. They dance and mingle their threads, but their lips never touch.

Yvena pushes at the human, stretching for her fire, but before she can lash out, the man is pulled away and tossed into a wall. Then the other two join him and Yvena looks at the humans who helped her.

All of her power is brought to bear on them, her mind wide open; they do not want to hurt her, so she calms, she breathes deeply, and says quietly, "Thank you."

The larger brother—_Sam_, she saw his name is—asks if there's anyone he can call, anyone who could take her home.

She shakes her head, can't take her eyes off the three who wanted—she shudders, repulsed and wounded. Fairefolk have no concept of rape.

"I want to go home," she says bleakly. "I don't like it here anymore."

The brothers share a look. "There's no one we can call?" Dean asks again, hesitantly stepping forward.

Yvena throws herself at him and he catches her. She nestles against his chest, seeking comfort—she's only four centuries old, a toddler by elemental standards. And Dean's forest-eyes remind her of Yethva, her brother.

Yvena sags into him, losing control of her form for a second; he reacts, quick as a Fairefolk, and swings her up into his arms, cradles her.

"Did they hurt you?" he demands, voice rough with concern. "Should we take you to the hospital?"

She shakes her head, weary, and tamps down on her power; beneath the concrete, she can heard the Earth singing, wanting to punish those humans who dared frighten her.

Yvena is a child by her people's reckoning. Before today, she had never feared anything.

Dean, still holding her, strides away, towards the south, Sam at his side.

_Once we've gone_, she whispers to the lingering spirits, _deal with them as you please._

Listening to Dean's heartbeat, Yvena tightens her hold on her human-shape and slips into the realm of human-sleep.

-

She wakes on something soft to the sound of Dean and Sam having a hushed conversation.

"We should take her to a doctor!" _Sam_.

"She doesn't seem harmed, Sammy. If she doesn't want a doctor, it's her choice."

"Dean!"

"Sam, it's _her_ choice."

Yvena reaches out, seeking the Earth spirit from before. _It's done_, the spirit tells her with satisfaction. She calms some more; those humans will touch no one ever again.

She's on her back on a human bed, still wearing her human skin and human clothes. She feels Grandpapa and Papa searching for her; they've crossed over, angry and frightened. And Yethva is closer still, his fury and fear bright, slapping at her.

She'll need to thank Dean and Sam, then meet her family before Grandpapa declares war on humanity.

So Yvena sits up and looks at them, staring first into Sam's jade eyes, then Dean's forest ones. "Thank you," she says quietly, sincerely. She'd never needed to be saved before, but these two men did without question, without hesitation. She wants to gift them, to show them just how much she appreciates their actions.

She stands and steps over, first to Sam. Fairefolk don't kiss, but humans do, so she reaches up to lightly grip Sam's face. He moves down to help—he's bigger even than the man who called her "Pretty-pretty"—and she softly presses her lips to his cheek. He smiles gently at her and she turns to Dean, does the same. Again, she says, "Thank you."

Then she sheds her human-form and returns to her natural shape, calls out to her family, and slides between the realms.

-

The human world and the Fairefolk world have many things in common, most notably the four Elements and the People of nature. Yvena's favorite of the furred, winged, and finned siblings has always been the painted, gentle ones: humans call them butterflies. Yvena calls them her younger siblings and sometimes she wears their form, dances with them through the sky.

Yethva, Papa, and Grandpapa don't let her leave the Palace of Flame for a very long time. But they can't keep her from looking in on her humans, those brothers.

To Sam, she gifted black wings with fire swirls of purple, gold, orange, and blue. They're large, of course, and she imbued them with strength enough to fly.

And Dean—his wings are the color of the rainbow, painted with glee. They are a masterpiece without equal in her world or his.

She looks in on them often, sometimes calling in Yethva to show him. He laughs the first time and says, "They're lovely, Ven. But you should remove them now. Humans don't have wings."

She pouts at him, but he tells her that every time they see each other for a human week.

But she can't take away the wings without visiting them again. And Papa will go apoplectic if she leaves the elemental realm.

Watching her humans, though, she can see her gifts have given them nothing but trouble, which was not her intention at all. Flying with her little brothers and sisters is one of the greatest feelings she's ever known; she only wanted to give Dean and Sam that sensation.

She waits until the palace is resting, until Grandpapa is in the Fairefolk version of sleep, and she slides between the realms again, appearing in Dean and Sam's room. Dean's stretched out on his bed, asleep on his stomach; Sam's sitting in the middle of the floor, flipping through a book. She can see, as he raises his head, that it's an encyclopedia of butterflies.

She isn't visible, not to human eyes, but she _knows_ he can see her.

"Who's there?" he demands softly, trying not to wake Dean up. His wings flap, causing a gentle breeze.

Yvena summons back her woman-shape and slips in. He relaxes almost unnoticeably, but she can read the air.

"I didn't mean to cause you trouble," she says, sinking down beside him, holding back tears.

Fairefolk do not cry.

She touches one of his black, fire-swirled wings; it's soft, like her siblings back home, and tickles her human-skin. Sam trembles and she pulls her hand away.

"We know," Sam assures her. "You were trying to thank us."

She smiles tremulously and surges up, kisses his forehead. She settles down again and watches the wings fade. Sam arches his back, rolls his shoulders, and smiles at her, a bright grin that lights up the room.

"I scoured every known butterfly breed," he says. "I couldn't find the kind you gave us."

She shrugs. "Back home, some of my brothers look like that."

"Sounds like a beautiful place." His voice is almost wistful.

She studies him for a moment and opens her mind, slowly reaches out to nudge him. His eyes widen as the images trickle in—the Palace and the fields, the oceans and forests and mountains, all the creatures that are slightly different from what he knows.

He laughs in delight as she strengthens the memories, filling in the sky—"Dragons?" He gapes at her and she giggles.

"I need to fix Dean," she says with regret and rises to her feet, staggers over to the bed.

Dean's head is turned to the side; the wings flutter slightly. She's never seen anything so beautiful, even back home.

If she were slightly older, though she doesn't know it, she'd consider keeping him. Instead she leans down and kisses his forehead, trails her fingers along the closest wing.

She doesn't wait for him to stir, just sheds the skin and goes home.

-

Yvena, nestled deeply in the Fairefolk version of sleep, dreams of Dean—and Sam, because Dean isn't complete without Sam—soaring across the sky, with glorious wings.


	17. The Untaken

**Title**: The Untaken

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU; spoilers for up till "In My Time Of Dying"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1180

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: This isn't in chronological order. And the verb tenses shift.

_

* * *

_

There are certain things that just _are_. And not even the Creator or His lieutenants can stop them or change them—or slow them.

So when that fucking Traitor enters her and screws up the natural order, there is nothing that can stop her from having vengeance.

-

She never bothered to count the eons. Or decide on a gender, since Reapers are asexual. But she often appeared as a female when a human's time was up because females were not often thought to be dangerous.

A mistake on humanity's part, that, but nothing she could do.

Reapers do not take sides. They collect souls. There is no hierarchy for them; they simply always have been. Like the sky. Humans and their wars happen; Reapers Reap. Neither light nor dark—they _are_.

-

But one Reaper, she knows, went rogue. Decided he wanted more. He faded and changed and shifted—and called himself a demon.

More than a demon. More than a Reaper. Less than a god. All the Reapers ostracized him, ignored him; as one, they decided he never existed.

He had his own agenda but she did not care. She had her job and she would do it. So she lost track of him and kept collecting souls.

-

Most of the souls begged her for more time. Wept and whimpered that she was wrong—they could not die, not yet.

Their pleading always fell on deaf ears. She did not have mercy. The Reaping could not be stopped.

Death comes for all, slave and king, demon and god. So it had always been and so it would always be.

-

She'd heard whispers of a Reaper bound by a human. She didn't listen; soon he was back with them. Reapers are not often gossipers, but he had quite a story to tell.

The woman had died—Reapers don't feel emotion but being bound to her will had galled him—and a mortal—a man—had not run. He had let the Reaper touch his face.

So few humans accept Death calmly. She heard the tale but did not fully listen, and went about her work.

-

Reapers do not Reap each other. Cannot, the legends say. Only everything else can be touched: Reapers are immune to their own powers.

As far as she knows, no one's ever tried it.

-

Rumors had circulated for years, in human time. Reapers do not keep track of time, so the human year is how she counts.

Rumors of the Rogue developing followers in the lesser demons. Playing with human lives.

She is the Reaper who took the woman called Mary Winchester. She lightly touched the baby('Samuel') and saw—pain. Unending.

Reapers do not have mercy. The elder child was to die that night. His soul beckoned her.

She did not take him. But a life must be paid for every life that is given.

Only in hindsight does she see. Three chances are all that he will have.

-

Mary Winchester. Marshall Hall. John Winchester.

Three lives ended before their time because she felt pity for a life barely begun.

If Reapers could laugh, she would. The human that did not run from Death is the only soul ever let go.

-

Gossip flew from Reaper to Reaper. The Rogue had plans for the Untaken, that man—Dean Winchester. And his brother, that child she touched and let sway her.

Reapers do not fear. Do not feel mercy. Cannot love.

But that child, young Samuel—she never envied humanity in all her eons. But after taking Mary Winchester, she wishes she could hold a child and not kill the babe.

The Rogue had plans for that human family. But she continued on with her work, floating from soul and soul. His business did not concern her. So long as he did not bother her, she did not care.

-

He fights her, refuses to listen, will not believe it is his time. She could tell him who has died to let him live.

But that would not help her. That would only serve to wound him, to weaken his soul—and might even cause him to fight harder.

She lightly touches his face; he is giving in slowly. A part of him has always known he should have died long ago.

But the Rogue has plans for this human and another dies in his place. Again.

-

Reapers do not Reap each other.

But the Rogue has named himself a Lord of Demons, so he is no longer a Reaper. And he can be collected.

She smiles and starts hunting.

-

She knows she will be named a rogue. They may even say she's followed him, the Traitor that forced his way in and used her body and let Dean Winchester go.

Three chances are all he will have. She will be the one to Reap his soul—the man he is, he'll court Death again. Won't be able to resist.

Reapers cannot love. But Hunters can. And Dean Winchester, the Untaken, does, with a fervor matched only by the burn of the sun.

She remembers Samuel as a baby, the boy she touched for less than a human heartbeat. Humans believe that children so young cannot love, but he did—his love shone so brightly it nearly blinded her. And that love earned her mercy and she took his mother instead of his brother and so began it all.

-

There are certain things that just _are_. Not even the Creator in His palace of pearl somewhere in the sky or His lieutenants on their thrones of pale marble can stop what is, has been, and will be. Even after the sun burns out and destroys the world, Reapers will still Reap.

Death cannot die.

This simply _is_.

-

Reapers do not Reap each other.

But he is a Lord of Demons and those are fair game.

Dean Winchester is the Untaken and shall remain so until after his brother dies because Samuel is a beacon brighter than the sun and his power swells by the day. He will not let his brother go and she does not fear, but she is not willing to risk that Samuel can defeat Death.

So she will be the one to Reap the Untaken, but not until after she exacts vengeance on the Rogue that raped her.

She does not care why the Rogue did what he did. She does not care what his plans for Samuel or the Untaken are.

He will beg and plead, but she is a Reaper and he is not. Nothing can defeat Death. She will be on-guard, at full strength, and angry.

She is a Reaper, Death's Handmaiden, Death's Bride, Death's Hand—she is Death itself. She has no pity, no mercy.

Dean Winchester alone has never been collected. Alone since the dawn of creation.

But one day, after the Rogue is dealt with, she _will_ collect his soul.

Not even the Creator could command her to stop.

After all, Death alone cannot die.


	18. don't ever play with guns

**Title**: don't you ever play with guns

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters, Victor or Dean or Sam or John. just for fun. Title from Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues"

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Folsom Prison Blues." This also a most probable AU.

**Pairings**: Hendrickson/Dean, implied Dean/Sam, Hendrickson/Hendrickson's wife

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 1515

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: So, this show I've discovered, "Queer as Folk"? I think it's making me branch out a little.

* * *

He answers the phone expecting Mike, so when he hears _that_ voice say, "You know, if you really looked, you'd see that—"

_Holy fucking hell._

"—the killings happen before we show up and stop after we leave."

"Why you callin' me, Dean?" he asks, trying to hook up the tracking system. He's the only one in the office, as it's Christmas Day.

"Just to say hi," Winchester answers with a laugh. "Merry Christmas, Vic."

Dial tone. _Shit_.

-

He rages the next day, demands to know how Winchester got his number, how the _hell_ he'd have the balls to actually _call_.

Victor rewatches all the footage they have on the Winchesters, listens to every tape again. There _must_ be some clue he's missed.

-

A month after Christmas and his cellphone rings. He's at supper with his wife, an apology dinner for all the time he spends at work.

With a quick smile and kiss, he takes the call outside.

"She's pretty, your Nicole," Winchester's voice purrs in his ear. "Think she knows 'bout that whore you fucked last week? Tight little ass on that boy. Wonder how old he was."

Victor freezes. "How'd you get this number?"

"I can go anywhere, Vic. Do anything. You'll never catch us unless we want to be caught." His laughter is soft and mocking. "Good luck, Vic."

Silence. He clenches his fist around the cell and fantasizes about breaking Winchester's face with his hand, shattering Winchester's spirit brutally—then he returns to dinner and his wife, convincing her she's the most important person in the world.

-

The Winchesters fall off the map. Vanish completely, and no one will admit to knowing where they are.

Victor _knows_ someone out there is hiding them but he can't begin to fathom why. They're killers and thieves, possibly the most dangerous men in the country—and wherever they go, they leave behind people who love them.

Two months after the second call, Winchester calls again. Victor answers, "What?"

"Now, is that any way to greet a friend, Vic?" Dean coos in his ear. Victor grinds his teeth.

"When I finally catch you, I will delight in snapping your ribs, beating that cocky smirk right off your face," he snarls.

"Even _if_ you caught me, Hendrickson," Winchester says, suddenly serious, "you'd never be able to hold me. And I won't let _anyone_ beat me."

Victor scoffs. "You let your dad beat you, Dean. We have records of the scars."

Silence. Victor smirks. "No argument? No smart-ass remark? Color me stunned."

"You know _nothing_ about my father," Winchester growls and hangs up.

Victor laughs and closes his cell.

-

It's a whole year before he talks to Winchester again. Nicole has divorced him and moved out; Victor only goes home for hours at a time.

It's been a year of fruitless searching. No sign or hint of either Winchester anywhere.

His phone rings. He's alone and watching TV, having been demoted because of his obsessive search for that fucking pair of brothers. He knows it's not healthy, how they've taken over his life.

He answers with, "Fuck off."

Victor doesn't recognize the voice at first. "I need your help, sir." Sounds desperate and young and familiar.

"Sam?" he asks when it hits him. "Sam _Winchester_?"

"Please, Agent Hendrickson. Dean's hurt and there's—" He sounds like he's been crying, maybe still is. "There's nowhere else to go."

Victor's laughter is loud and mocking. "You and that bastard brother of yours _ruined my life_. And now you come to me for _help_?"

"Please. I'm sorry, but I need—"

Victor cuts him off. "I hope the both'a you burn in hell." He hangs up.

-

Next day, phone rings again. He answers with, "Fuck off."

Dean's chuckle is barely there. "A friendly warning, Vic. If I'd'a died 'cause you refused Sam help, my brother'd gone on a rampage. I bet _you'd_ be his first stop." Dean sighs, sounding resigned. "He's a good guy, Sammy. The best I've ever known. And I'm the only thing he has in the world." This time, when Dean chuckles, there's no humor to be found. "Remember that, Victor. If Sammy has nothing, there's no hope at all."  
Victor shudders and holds the phone to his ear long after Dean's gone.

-

Few months after, he comes home to both Winchesters in his house.

Sam's in the kitchen preparing a meal and Dean's flipping through a magazine in the den.

Dread forms a pit in his stomach. His gun is across the room, closer to Dean than him.

Dean smirks.

"You look healthy for a guy who nearly died," Victor observes.

Now, Dean chuckles. "He always does," Sam says, entering the room. He stands in the doorway, looking larger than Victor remembers. "No thanks to you."

Victor stares at Sam. He doesn't just seem larger or older, but—more powerful, almost. His eyes sear through Victor and Victor shivers. "You come to kill me?" He directs the question to Dean and turns to face him.

"No." Dean shakes his head. "Me and Sammy were just passin' through. Wanted to tell you bye." He stands and winces, bringing a hand to his ribs.

Sam hurries to him, murmurs, "You alright?"

"Fine, Sammy," Dean mutters. "Stop hoverin'."

Victor watches in shock. "That left over?"

Sam glares and something dark peers out his eyes. "Count yourself lucky, Victor. Be glad he's fine."

He shudders. Watches as they leave his house and take off into the night, that car of Dean's growling. He could call the FBI, the police—they're wanted in a dozen states. He _should_. But he doesn't.

He tastes the meal Sam cooked—Chicken Marsala. He had it once before, and craved it ever since.

Victor wonders if this is a pay-off or poisoned and doesn't care. He's worn out, tired of chasing them.

He eats a helping and crawls into bed, dreams of beating Dean Winchester into submission and fucking him till he passes out.

It's a good dream.

-

He hears from Dean once more. It's a good ten years later and he's long since quit the Bureau, moved out to the desert. He's published a couple of thrillers and watches the sunrise every day.

"Why did you hate me so much?" Dean asks from behind him and Victor jumps, lunges to his feet. He'd nearly forgotten Dean, in the quiet life he lives now.

Victor turns, takes in Dean. Still inhumanly beautiful, though he has a scar up at his hairline. Still those eyes, those lips, that cocky smirk.

"Lose Sam?" Victor asks, since he can't think of anything else to say.

"Nope." Dean shakes his head. "But he didn't want to see you." Dean looks across Victor's yard. "You're hard to find, when you wanna be."

"But you found me," Victor counters. "I never could find you."

Dean laughs. "What about that one time in Arkansas?"

Victor scoffs. "You wanted to get caught. Never could figure out why."

Dean looks back at him, trails his eyes along Victor's body. "You wouldn't believe me." He steps forward, offers a hand. "I'm Dean Winchester."

Victor cock his head, but takes his hand. "Victor Hendrickson." Dean shakes with a firm grip.

"Nice to meet you," Dean chuckles then pulls Victor forward and kisses him.

It's the most violent kiss Victor has ever experienced, but he's not complaining. Instead he takes control and backs Dean into the wall.

Dean snickers into the kiss and Victor pauses, asks, "Somethin' funny?"

"No." Dean leans down and trails his tongue along Victor's neck, lightly nips at the skin. "Just rememberin' our first conversation."

"Back in Milwaukee?" Victor gasps, bringing a hand to the back of Dean's head.

"You were a bastard, Vic." Dean bites hard and Victor arches up. "Wanted to smash your face against a wall."

"Sam know why you're here?" Victor grabs Dean's hands, raises them above his head.

Dean laughs in disbelief. "You _really_ wanna talk about my brother now?"

Victor considers that for a second, gaze sliding from Dean's eyes to his lips and then further south.

Time has made this cocky sum'bitch even _more_ attractive, and knowing what he looked like before?

"No," Victor decides and gets back to what's more important.

-

He wakes alone, thoroughly satisfied, still without any clue what either Winchester is about. But he doesn't care anymore.

He walks to the kitchen naked to find a jump-drive on his counter, and a note—_Been called crazy before. Have fun. _

Victor picks up the drive, studies it. Then he loads it in the computer. He'll probably be more confused after seeing what's on the stick, but he's been wondering for near-on twenty years now, and curiosity's eating him alive.

There's a file that says READ so he clicks on it. A Word document opens and the very first line says _This is Sam. Everything on this drive is the truth. If you want to remain oblivious, stop now. _

Victor does consider it, for one brief moment. But then he continues reading and almost imagines that he hears Dean purr, "Good boy."


	19. Florescent

**Title**: Florescent

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: The Winchesters aren't mine, or their demons. Everyone else is, though.

**Warnings**: AU. No real spoilers for anything, unless you haven't seen the pilot or don't know the basic back-story.

**Pairings**: John/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1335

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: Not related to "Familial Relations" at all.

* * *

_You mourn what was taken… I mourn what has never been… _

_Wait… listen… don't walk away so soon, love. You cannot comprehend, not yet. I understand the frustration—they are so beautiful, so broken. They call to your better nature. _

_They call to all of our better natures, and we still turn away. We must. We cannot fight destiny; we have not the strength. We are but lowly servants to the demented gods, and no matter how we struggle, no matter how we curse, in the end there is nothing for us to do but continue on. _

_Not yet. _

-

_I have your attention now. Young ones are always the same. Full of ideals and promise, full of hope and righteous fury at the state of things. _

_So was I, once. Before. _

-

_Patience, love. Patience. Things will happen as they are meant to and no other way. I understand how you feel; believe me, I've felt the same. Still feel the same, when I see all the trouble those silly, inopportune boys find themselves getting into time after time. _

_Don't look so astonished, child. I respect them, and I adore them, and I fear for them—but they are still boys. They still think themselves immortal, despite how often they've felt Death's velvet wings on their skin, Death's porcelain fingers against their cheeks. 'specially the elder. That boy… oh, as much as I want to slap some sense into him, I also want to feed him a pot-full of chicken noodle soup and embrace him until the world isn't so hard anymore. _

_Don't grin at me, girl. You feel the same. We all do. _

-

_We cannot help it, being drawn to them, wondering… we look after them, as best we can, but it will never be enough. Not while the demented gods—Bloodlust and Rage and Vengeance—still rule. And they will rule for a long while yet, punishing those beautiful boys for their parents' sins. _

_Oh, that lovely girl, Maralyn—such promise woven into her skin. Defiant and strong, willful… she strode her own way without hesitation, impatient with the faults of others. And her lover, the man John… he matched her step for step, enchanted, caught in her spell. _

_No, she did not entrap him. Knowing it all, he followed her, went with her, loved her—was loved by her. She who loved no one loved him, as enchanted with him as he was her. _

_Fairy tale, it was. Such a fairy tale. And our demented gods watched with envy as their favorite daughter wed a human and bore him a son. She had turned from them all, for a mortal—aye, Rage flourished that day. _

_Bloodlust followed swiftly, determined that if the gods could not have her, no one could. But they fled, Maralyn and her husband, and she wove protections about them, protections so strong that no one and nothing could unravel them, could touch them. Not even the gods._

_- _

_Patience, child. There is more to the story yet. Much more. You watch those boys and you know it, know that the tale cannot possibly be done. _

_Vengeance found a way around Maralyn's spells, past her web. Her firstborn was four years old, her baby only half a year. _

_- _

_And what followed… oh, love, what followed… you know the words, the legend. You know how Vengeance acted out his rage, how he carved and burned her, how he let the man John see what comes of loving the gods' own. You know how the man John took his sons, fled the town Maralyn loved so much, how he raised her boys to track, to hunt, to kill. _

_Maralyn flew from the gods so she would not become their tool, and her sons became their father's weapons, and Irony howls out her pleasure to the moon. _

_Pardon me, child. I must… thank you. I am one of the last who knew Maralyn, who watched her grow. And seeing what has come to be… I cannot… _

_Give me a moment for composure, and I shall be ready to continue. _

_Emotions… interesting things, no? They can lead to such amazing conclusions—and they can shatter nations. For example… Dean. That boy carries enough love, devotion, and rage he could shoulder mountains. His determination could halt a buffalo stampede—and even some gods cannot claim so much. _

_Oh, John… he had such noble intentions, darling. So much promise. And look where his journey ended… trading his life for his sons. _

_And, yes, the plural term is correct. Had Dean died, Sam would soon have joined him. Those two cannot be separated; neither could survive it. That was not John's intention, weaving them so closely together, but intentions, in the end, come to mean nothing. _

_Maralyn had the best of intentions, when she fled with John. She wanted freedom, a life of her choosing, a family. And look how she has paid… _

_But the worst of the punishment is not on her soul, or even on John's. It is Dean, it is Sam, who pay the price, with every single breath, with every single step, with every single heartbeat. They can never walk away from it—nor, honestly, do they want to. _

_It is one of the reasons we all look after them, watch them, help when and where we can. They are good boys, the best—and the demented gods hate them… because Dean and Sam, they are something the gods can never have. _

_Maralyn is in their blood and their souls, in their cores. John is in their every move, their every thought. And the gods are jealous of that. _

_Rage wanted her for his own from the first, with Vengeance half a step behind. But it was Bloodlust, the greatest of the three, who swore to have her for his own, come what may. _

-

_Patience, child, daughter, young one. Patience. The story nears the end. _

-

_John did not fully know his wife, did not know her greatest secrets. But he knew her heart, he knew her soul, he knew enough. He knew her in a way the gods never did. _

_Looking at her sons, at her beautiful boys, he still knows enough. _

_- _

_The war looms, child. John has prepared her sons as best he can, but it will not be enough, cannot be, for he still doesn't know the greatest lesson. _

_Maralyn was godborn. She was the most glorious daughter of Hope, the strongest of all the things in Pandora's box. And those three, all that remain—Rage, Vengeance, Bloodlust—they would have clipped her wings, claimed her for their own, destroyed the very parts of her that made her great. _

_Do not mourn, darling. Maralyn and John are together now, safe beyond the demented gods' reach. They can no longer be touched. _

_But the time is coming… soon, we, us who see and know, us who love those boys, we must act. _

-

_You mourn what was taken when Vengeance killed Maralyn, when Rage murdered John, punishing them for their love. _

_I mourn for what has never been, for what Maralyn and John were not allowed, for what their sons can never be because of the sad, sorry, demented gods. _

_They walk too proudly, those three who remain. And for years, we have stayed our hands, kept to ourselves, watched and waited. But soon… _

_Look at those boys, Maralyn's heirs. She was the strongest, greatest, most glorious child ever born of the sky—and her sons are greater still. _

_Not that they know, of course. But they will. Vengeance runs low on patience, and Rage wishes to claim them for his own. _

_But it will be Bloodlust who makes the first move, and we must be prepared. _

-

_The story is not over, child. There are few of us left, few of us who remember the old days, how everything used to be. But those few are enough. _

_They are Maralyn's. They are John's. _

_They are **ours**, and it is time that we reminded the gods of what that means. _


	20. Benediction

**Title**: Benediction

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, anyone you recognize. Lyrics excerpted from "Who You'd Be Today" by Kenny Chesney. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: far in the future

**Pairings**: non-incestuous het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1090

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_It ain't fair; you died too young,  
Like a story that had just begun  
But death tore the pages all away._

* * *

There is one word that Jo never says. No matter what the circumstances of the leaving are, she never says it. Never thinks it. 

She shares a smile with Sam and he kisses her forehead, pulls her gently to his chest. "Be back soon," he murmurs into her hair and she nods, answers, "See you then."

Johnny always follows Sam down the drive to the car, begging to be taken along. Sam kneels in front of him and explains, every single time, that he can come after he's grown big and strong like his daddy.

Jo blinks back tears. It shouldn't hurt so much anymore. It shouldn't.

-

Mom visits sometimes. Johnny always demands stories of hunters and Mom gives in to the request. She tells stories of Daniel Elkins, the greatest vampire hunter; of Caleb, the best marksman America ever had; of Pastor Jim, the man of faith who sent untold numbers of evils back to Hell's caverns.

She never mentions the Winchesters. Jo asked her not to.

-

When Mom leaves the final time, Jo doesn't say goodbye. She says, "I love you," "Be safe," "Sam'll be sorry he missed you," but not "Goodbye."

Mom smiles at her and hugs her hard, says, "You're doin' good, sweetie," and kisses Johnny's cheek. Jo hands over Marian, and Mom gently takes her youngest grandbaby, croons to her, kisses the top of her head, and hands her back.

"I love you, Joanna," Mom says. She doesn't say goodbye, either.

That word is no longer in any of their vocabularies.

-

Marian cries at the funeral, and so do Johnny and Sam. But Jo's eyes are dry. Her arms are steady around her daughter, and Sam's holding Johnny with one hand and Jo with the other. She leans into him, offering comfort, but taking none.

Hunters from all over the country have come. To remember, to mourn, to honor, to say goodbye.

Jo stands by the casket, open and showing her mother's body, but she has no goodbye to say. She's forgotten the word, turned her back on it.

That night, with Marian asleep and Johnny pretending in his room, Jo cries in Sam's arms.

-

Sam still hunts, despite everything. It's in his blood, a part of him he can no longer deny. Jo understands and offers her approval; it's hard to stay close to the dead if you turn away from the very basic parts of them.

Not that Sam ever tells her that's why he hunts. After all, that's why she does, too.

-

She goes to Mom's headstone every now and then, alone. Mom isn't buried there; she'd been scattered to the wind, per her request. But some of the hunters who'd known her chipped in to pay for a stone.

Jo couldn't thank them, but Sam did.

She doesn't say much, just sits, back to the pale marble, feels the engraved words through her shirt. She sometimes talks about the kids, about Johnny who just turned seven and Marian who's three. About Heather who was just born and has her daddy's eyes.

The sun is bright in the sky, warm on her skin. Memories play in front of her eyes.

She still can't say goodbye.

-

"Do you think he ever forgave me?"

She feels Sam look over, reach out, but she jerks away from the touch.

"It never crossed his mind not to," Sam answers softly and reaches out again. She lets him, this time, moves into it, curls up in his arms.

"Johnny looks so much like him," she says brokenly. "Sometimes, I can't meet his eyes."

It's been almost ten years and she has yet to cry for him. Sam holds her tight, kisses her hair, her cheeks, her lips, and she sobs into his neck.

-

The day Johnny turns fifteen, Jo tells him the truth. Sam stands behind her chair, hands warm on her shoulders. Marian and Heather play outside, with Eli their Wolfhound for protection.

They are too young, yet, to know.

All things considered, Johnny takes it well.

That night, it's Sam who cries. Jo just wraps her arms around him and waits it out.

-

"I never told him goodbye," Jo says to Mom's stone. "Either of them." She laughs. "Sometimes, I look over my shoulder and I expect to see him, either of 'em, gloriously alive." She licks her lips, looks to the sky. "Sam's good, Mom. You know that. And I love him, I do. I do." She can't form the words, can't give them life.

"I miss you, Momma," she says instead. "I miss you so much."

-

On Johnny's twentieth birthday, he comes home.

He's grown, since he stormed out, cursing her for her lies, cursing Sam for his pretending, cursing the world for not being what he expected.

He looks so much like his father it hurts Jo to look at him, but she does. He meets her eyes and tells her he's sorry, so sorry. She smiles and pulls his head down so she can kiss his forehead.

"I love you," she whispers and he wraps his arms around her.

"I love you, Mom," he replies.

Marian and Heather hug him next. Marian knows the truth, knows that while Sam is her and Heather's daddy, he's not Johnny's.

For Marian, it changes nothing.

Sam waits to the side. Jo looks up at him and smiles sadly.

It's been almost twenty years since he's seen his brother. And Johnny looks so much like him…

-

"He wouldn't blame you," Jo murmurs to Sam the night after her son returns. "He wouldn't."

"I know," Sam answers. "I know."

-

There is a word Jo hasn't said to anyone in almost her entire life. She didn't say it to her father or the man she loved or her mother. She doesn't say it to her children or her husband. She doesn't say it to her friends.

She'll never say it again. Never.

-

Sam still hunts. He's old now, tired, and Jo knows it won't be long.

Johnny and Marian don't call that often; life is hectic and full. Heather visits almost every week.

Whenever Sam shuffles in, Jo takes his hands and leads him to bed. Nearness is all they need anymore. Nearness and warmth, and the shared memories of days long gone.

And then one day, Sam doesn't come back.

Jo hasn't said goodbye to anyone in a lifetime.

She calls up Heather and Johnny and Marian and she tells them goodbye.


	21. Upon the Road to Heaven

**Title**: Upon The Road To Heaven

**Disclaimer**: Only Missouri, Mary, John, Dean, Sam, and The Demon don't belong to me. Just for fun.  
**Warnings**: spoilers for everything and I suppose AU.  
**Pairings**: none, really  
**Rating**: PG13  
**Wordcount**: 1235

**Point of view**: third

_I pity you_, the demon whispers, _because you don't know._

_o0o_

Missouri, Rebecca Moseley's youngest girl, was considered odd by the neighbors. She'd carry on conversations with the wind or she'd tell people what the trees were thinking.

Nathan, Rebecca's murdered husband, had warned her of the gift his family carried in their blood.

She'd thought he was joking.

_My momma_, he'd said, _she could look at ya and know ya secrets. And my sister—when she was angry, the walls trembled. _

_And what about you?_ Rebecca asked. _What's your gift?_

He looked at her, measured her with his gaze. With a small quirk of his lips, he answered, _Only the girls._

_o0o_

Trina, the eldest of their children, wasn't born fully whole. She'd never grow up, not in her head.

Nicole, the second daughter, could sing the angels out of Heaven.

Becky, the second-to-youngest child, sometimes just knew things without knowing why.

But then Missouri… Missouri.

_Heaven shakes, _Becky whispered with her little two-year-old voice when Nathan showed her the baby. _Daddy, Heaven shakes. _

_o0o_

Michael, the secondborn and only boy, died not too long after his tenth birthday.

Nathan died a few months after, then Trina.

Becky cried every night and Nicole ran away.

Rebecca looked at her remaining children and prayed.

_Nathan, ya fool. Ya were lying. So don't ya dare be telling me this now._

_o0o_

Missouri was barely eleven when she crouched beside Becky's bed and whispered, _Tell me everythin' will be okay._

Becky was thirteen when she whispered back, _I wish ta God I could. _

_o0o_

Rebecca watched her daughters grow, watched them blossom and bloom, watched with despair and determination.

Nathan didn't tell her everything, but he damned sure told her enough.

_It peaks on the eighteenth birthday, and from there it's all downhill. _

_o0o_

Nicole spent her eighteenth birthday heaving and shuddering, influenza striking hard. She could never sing as beautifully after that.

Becky's eighteenth birthday came and went, leaving her in a coma. Missouri spent every waking moment by her side—didn't leave for food or water, didn't go to school.

Rebecca watched and waited, sobbing all the while, and when Becky's eyes opened a month later, she only knew what she was born knowing, not people's thoughts, not what was to come.

Rebecca sighed with relief and Missouri cried all over Becky's hospital gown.

o0o

Missouri's eighteenth birthday came and went with a small party and a few presents, and she woke the next day to Becky mumbling in her sleep about Heaven shaking.

o0o

Rebecca died in a car accident and Becky almost died in a plane crash. Nicole showed up for a single day, simply to say sorry, and then she vanished again.

Missouri was twenty-seven when she left the place she'd lived her whole life, the place most of her family died in. She traveled north, then west, knowing she'd know when she got there.

Walking down the main street of Lawrence, Kansas, she saw the woman and little boy, the woman's hair golden and his eyes the largest hazel she'd ever seen.

_Yes_, her soul whispered. _No_, her heart replied.

Missouri bought the shop later that day and settled in for a long stay.

o0o

She watched John and Mary and Dean, dreamt about them, prayed for them, and sobbed herself to sleep the night Sam was conceived.

In her mind, through the folds of time, she heard her big sister at two years old whisper, _Heaven shakes. Daddy, Heaven shakes. _

_o0o_

When John came to her, hurting and angry, terrified to the core, vengeful, Missouri did what she had to. What she was meant to.

_Evil walked your house_, she told him. _Evil stole her from you. And Evil is after your sons. _

_My_ _sons?_ he asked, clinging tightly to what remained of his sanity. Of the man Mary wed in spring.

_More is out there than you've ever fathomed, John. And It wants them. _

She sent him away with the beginnings of a plan, gave him names and addresses, helped him as much as she could. She watched him drive away in that sleek black car, two babies in the back seat, hatred burning bright in his soul.

Becky called and asked, _What have you done?_

Missouri stared at the stars through the window and answered, _Heaven only shakes if it was meant to. _

_o0o_

Becky's gift waned in the weeks and months after her eighteenth birthday. Missouri's soared and spiraled, and the sky could not contain her.

She didn't look for John and his boys, ever. But she still knew where they were. She could feel Mary's presence hovering over them, shielding them from the Evil that sought them, the Evil that Missouri still couldn't name.

Lesser things could find them, though. And Sam was a beacon that lit up the world.

o0o

The years passed. John hunted and killed, taught his sons the same. The Winchester name spread from coast to coast, seasoned hunters whispering it in awe.

Dean grew, and Sam grew, and Missouri shivered the night Sam left for Stanford. She wrapped the quilt around her and heard the wolves howl, felt the icy breeze blowing, smelled fire and blood. On her tongue, she tasted recrimination and regret.

In her memory, her eyelids squeezed shut tight against reality and what had to be, she saw hazel and golden eyes, and heard It laughing.

o0o

_I pity you, _the demon murmurs, _because you think you make a difference. _

_o0o_

She couldn't welcome them into her home, not really. Neither remembered meeting her, not that they should—babies, both them, but not innocent, never innocent again.

She greeted Sam like someone beloved, leaving Dean in the cold. She couldn't give either of them what they needed, but she could give Sam a little, something he'd accept.

Dean would take nothing from her, too wrapped up in his pain and fury, his apprehension at being in Lawrence, his walls too high and too thick.

Missouri doted on Sam, shivering on the inside, and laughed at Dean, trying to take his thoughts away from the dark pit in his soul.

She gleaned little from their thoughts, nothing more than the surface; Missouri wasn't timid and never had been, but digging too deep into their minds terrified her more even than the Evil she knew had walked their house.

She woke to screams in her mind; she'd known the poltergeist hadn't been banished, nor that second spirit—_Mary_—but it wasn't her place to tell them.

Evil was stalking them again, had chased them from California, ghosted half a step behind them.

_Heaven shakes, Daddy_, Missouri whispered, longing to call Becky, but Becky was dead for five years now.

o0o

In her memory, she heard Nicole singing, her voice rising to the sky, lighting the world around her.

She only did what she had to do, what she was _born_ to do, but she knew with bone-deep certainty that any victory would be hollow.

o0o

And it all happened exactly as she knew it would.

_Evil walked your house._

_Evil stole her from you._

_Evil is after your sons._

And that final bit of information she kept from John, that one thing she couldn't tell him, that thing she knows he saw in the cabin the night the demon branded Dean with Its bastardizing mark—she sobbed when she felt John tell Dean.

_Evil is your sons._

_o0o_

_Heaven shakes_, the demon howls, _because it's finally falling down._


	22. Adoration Alone

**Title**: Adoration Alone

**Disclaimers**: Not my characters, the Winchesters or Barrs. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Dead in the Water"

**Pairings**: one-side non-incestuous slash

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1225

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He fell a little in love that day. He didn't know it, not for a long time. He didn't understand why no one ever measured up, why no matter how much he tried to have crushes on the little girls he went to school with, he couldn't. He thought there was something wrong with him. 

The memories were faded, far away. Sometimes he dreamed about it, all that happened. He'd asked Mom for the story, but she never told. Just smiled sadly and said he didn't need to know, not really.

The memory that stood out most, the only one he could be absolutely sure had happened, was in the park. The sun shone down on him while he drew; he hates it now, but he knows he drew like crazy back then. He didn't enjoy it, but he couldn't stop. But he was drawing in the park and Mom was on the bench, watching him, worried and sad.

The man from Grandpa's work walked over and talked to him, drew for him, and said he'd listen if Lucas ever decided to speak.

And he was the first person Lucas spoke to after he decided he needed to talk.

He can't remember everything the man said, can't remember what all he told him. Can't even remember his name or what he looked like. Can't remember what he smelled like when Lucas hugged him goodbye.

But his voice echoes in Lucas' head sometimes. He can't make out the words, but he hears the gruff tone, the kindness laced through each syllable. He remembers feeling safe in the man's presence, in his arms.

Lucas knows now, though, why no one ever called to him, why he never felt attracted to anyone, until—

He wants to ask Mom if it's normal but she's caught up in Robert and Leah and her second life. Lucas doesn't begrudge her that; she deserves happiness. She deserves love, after everything.

But Lucas can feel something calling him. Something that says it's time to go.

He fell a little in love that day in the park. He's compared everyone to a man he can't even really remember, a man he met when he was six-years-old.

In the weeks leading up to his leaving, he starts drawing again. Frenzied and dark, even he can't make out what they're supposed to be. Leah watches him shade the papers, watches with wide eyes. He can see the question on his little sister's face, but she doesn't ask.

Even if she did, he has no answer.

In the middle of the pages, he sketches eyes. Around them, everything is dark, black. But he grabs a light green pencil and he colors them in.

He remembers meeting that warm hazel gaze, remembers feeling safe. Remembers not wanting to let go after being pulled from the lake.

That lake still haunts his dreams.

Leah hugs him the night before he takes off, kisses his cheek. "I love you, Luke," she says and he wraps his arms around her.

When Mom gets up the next day, Lucas is gone. He takes clothes, money, and notebooks, along with all of his pencils.

He's seventeen and Robert, like Lucas knew he would, convinces Mom to let him go.

Something is pulling him, calling him, summoning him. Each night, he draws eyes and slowly fills in the rest of the face. He can't be a hundred percent sure, but he feels that it's an accurate portrait. Gazing at his picture, he hears the voice again, the words clear. Everything he said, Lucas remembers.

He doesn't know where he's going, has no clue what he'll do when he gets there. But it doesn't matter.

That day in the park, over a decade ago—he fell in love. He realizes that now. He knows, now, that no one will ever compare. But he can't remember the man's name. He knows that the man won't love him back, can't—even if he remembers him, he'll think of Lucas as a child, a little boy.

And something is still pulling Lucas.

Two months after he leaves home, Lucas is in Lawrence, Kansas. A graveyard. In front of someone named Mary Winchester's headstone. He looks around; the world is quiet. The sun shines, not a cloud in the sky.

"Who're you?" a harsh voice demands. "What're you doing here?"

Lucas spins and looks up—"Sam," he says, the name coming to him out of the blue.

The man pauses, green eyes pinning Lucas to the spot. He's not as big as Lucas remembers, but he's still bigger than most anyone Lucas has ever met.

"Who are you?" he repeats, voice softer.

"Lucas Barr," he answers.

"Lucas," Sam says. "Why are you here?"

Lucas shrugs. "I have to be." He smiles embarrassedly. "I'm looking for your brother."

Sam closes his eyes for a moment, face tightening. He looks haggard, old, but he can't even be forty yet.

And Lucas knows. His heart clenches and the wind seems to rush around him. Sam opens his eye and says, "You're five years too late, Lucas." He glances past Lucas to Mary's stone. "I scattered him here."

Lucas swallows and nods.

"You're the kid with the lake ghost," Sam says, stepping forward. Lucas nods again, breathing shallowly. "How old are you now?" he asks, coming beside Lucas and resting a hand on Mary's stone.

"Seventeen," Lucas whispers.

Sam smiles. "He was a good guy," he murmurs. "The best man I've ever known." He shifts and places his other hand on Lucas' shoulder.

"I can't remember his name," Lucas says. "I can remember everything else, finally, but not his name."

"Eleven years," Sam laughs. "Eleven fucking years."

Lucas turns and looks up into his eyes. "Is it possible for a six year old to fall in love?"

Sam's eyes look so much like his brother's it hurts Lucas to stare into them.

"Must be," Sam answers and looks out over the cemetery. The wind picks up and gently ruffles their hair. Sam chuckles. "He never forgot anyone. All the people we helped—he could list them off, one by one, say when and where we helped them, and their names." He shakes his head and Lucas studies his profile, comparing what he sees in front of him to what he sees in his memory.

Sam's hair is shorter. He stands taller than he did; from what Lucas remembers, he slumped, tried to seem smaller. He's over that now. His face is weary. Haggard.

He can't be more than thirty-five, but he seems **old**.

"What was his name?" Lucas whispers.

Sam sighs. "Come with me." He turns and walks toward the entrance. Lucas follows with his eyes and sees the car, the Impala. For an instant, he sees Sam's brother standing next to his car, alive and beautiful, grinning.

"Dean," he says.

Sam pauses and looks back. "Coming?"

Lucas nods and hurries to catch up.

He fell in love that day, eleven years ago. He fell in love and no one has ever compared. Ever will compare, he knows.

Once they reach the car, Sam looks back. "I never imagined a world without him," Sam says, opening the driver's door. "Not once."

Lucas nods, understanding. "Neither did I," he responds.

Sam's laughter is bitter and sad, but it's laughter. Lucas almost smiles.


	23. Bane

**Title**: Bane

**Disclaimer**: Only the Consort is mine. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for everything after "Home" and blasphemy, I'm sure

**Pairings**: the Devil and his Consort

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1112

**Point** **of** **view**: first

**_

* * *

_**

_On the morning of November third in the year of Our Lord two-thousand and six, the Bane of our kind opened his eyes and met the fearful, resigned, angry gaze of his brother. _

_Now, understand this—he wasn't a bane until that moment. He wasn't the vengeful, vindictive, amazing opponent until fire licked Dean's form, until Death came for and took him, until the instant Dean breathed no more. _

_The Bane's powers had been a flickering beacon, nearly faded and failed, but as Dean died, they blazed, exploded—it was too late, though. Dean was beyond aid at that point and his soul—what a prize it could have been!—flew heavenward. He tried to stay, to remain in his body and then just near his brother, but Our Enemy called him home and he could not. _

_The Bane then screamed in a voice that shook the world, a howling wail that terrified everyone, ours and theirs alike. No one was beyond it; even Our Enemy trembled a moment, I'm told, wondered if a mistake had been made. _

_And the brother no longer remained. The father was dead. The Bane had only himself and vengeance— _

_And his powers swelled with his rage. They grew and grew—soon, nothing was beyond him. The Enemy Itself, in the palace of jewels up in the sky, shivered at the burn of his cold fury. _

_One of our informants in those pearl halls told me that the brother asked Our Enemy if he could return, visit the Bane, stay with him until his own time. The Enemy's answer was a resounding, echoing r__efusal_. We ourselves heard it. The informant said the brother's eyes grew cold and the Enemy's aides drew back a little. 

_Oh, yes, the Enemy and Our Father both made a mistake, letting the Bane and his brother into the world. And it's not traitorous to say so—after the debacle, they both know it to be true. _

_By our time, a breath passed. By human-time, it was nearly a decade. The Bane grew, in both power and madness, and our informant in Heaven told us the brother paced around the golden streets, angry in a place that should be beyond anger. Heaven began to shift with him—those powers shouldn't have joined him in the afterlife, shouldn't have followed him into the sky, but they did. _

_Neither should ever have been born. They were not for the world, not for Heaven or Hell. They were— _

_Why Our Enemy allowed them, I have no idea. Not even Our Lord knows. _

_The Bane continued his extermination of our kind, only killing humans if they got in his way. Watching him command his powers, it was hard to see the boy he once was. Where there had been hope and love and all those 'good', 'Light', foolish human things, there was only Darkness. The deepest, darkest Darkness the world—and Our Enemy and Our Lord—had seen in a long time. _

_And we thought it couldn't get worse. We thought there was nowhere to fall to. _

_Oh, dearest reader, we couldn't be more wrong. _

_I write this so that those who survive will know. Not all of this information is available to all demons, or our brethren on Earth, but I am—I am Our Lord's most trusted, I am Our Lord's Consort. _

_He understands the mistake made in letting the Bane and his brother grow. Our informant in Heaven tells us Our Enemy knows, too. _

_And finally, they are beyond us. Astronomical powers—how? They are—were?—mortal. No human has ever had such power, except for the Son, and he was Godborn. They aren't. _

_The brother finally tore himself from Heaven, fell to Earth. The Bane met him, in the place once called Golgotha, long ago—for humans, at least. Only a moment for us, those painful two-thousand years. Our Enemy's greatest victory, the turning-point, the dawning sun… _

_And then **they** were born. Who knew what they'd become? Surely, if Our Enemy had had any inkling, any tiny clue, any infinitesimal shadow of a belief it'd end like this, He would have done **something**. _

_After all—they're pissed at Him, too. _

_Humanity is the reason, I think. We cannot feel such emotion, nor can our opposites, the Chorus of Heaven. Our Enemy and Our Lord can, but only because Our Lord was the first and the Enemy his creator. _

_The Bane and his brother, born mortal, yet with such power… they **feel**. They feel deeply, completely, with such a fervor… they do not deny their emotions—or, rather, did not. In previous moments of their lives, they had. _

_But when the brother died and then leapt from Heaven… when the Bane became the Bane and blazed with righteous fury, striking fear into Our Lord and Our Enemy—emotions were no longer suppressed and with each breath they grew ever more furious. _

_Our informant spoke of Our Enemy's fear, of His trembling on the Golden Throne. Our Father, at first joyous because of His Creator's fear, began to shudder in His own trepidation. _

_I am His Consort, His most trusted. I know of events beyond all others; I was in Our Lord's chamber when He learned the brother tossed himself from Paradise. _

_The look on my Beloved's face, the terror in His eyes… oh, I cannot convey it. I cannot describe for you what I witnessed. But know this—what Our Lord trembles before is something no one can fight. _

_Neither should have ever been born, the Bane and his brother. That they were is a horrific mistake with no chance of being rectified. They are more, so much more—and Our Lord cannot challenge them, nor can Our Enemy. That possibility is beyond both of Them. Nothing can defeat the Bane except his brother, and the reverse, too, is true. And they will not fight each other, will not try to destroy each other, not after everything. _

_The morning of November third, we lost. We had no chance of winning from the moment Samuel Winchester opened his eyes and became our Bane. Both Our Lord and His Creator knew it, though Neither admitted it for years. _

_They stand together, united against Heaven and Hell, caring only for reach other, prepared to burn down the world. _

_We cannot fight them. We will not defeat them. They cannot be overcome. _

_The halls of Heaven tremble and the demons cower in Hell's caverns. Our Lord waits for His doom and Our Enemy plans for a salvation He shall not receive. _

_The end has arrived, reader. And I write this only on the slim chance that some will survive. _


	24. Reconteur

**Title**: Reconteur

**Disclaimer**: Narrator's mine. That's about it. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU. Inspired by "Crossroad Blues"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1060

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

It's easy to second-guess someone who isn't there to explain, and wouldn't even if he _were_ there, because, damn it, don't you know John Winchester is _always_ right? Even when he's wrong. 

And in this case? Oh, yes, dear old Johnny, Papa of the Winchester clan, was _very_ fuckin' _wrong_.

Not that he'll ever admit it. But everyone knows.

Everyone.

You see—oh, _stop that pacing_. Not like it's going to make me talk faster. All you're doin' is getting on my very _last_ nerve, and that won't let you hear any sooner. Understand? Good.

Where was I?

Ah, yes, where Daddy fucked up but good.

See, the thing is, there's always a choice, right? Always, _always_ a choice. Someone's, for good or ill, for forever. And your mother, boy? She made a choice. She made a choice and she made it quick, brutal, eternal—her for you.

You heard me right. For _you_.

Shake your head all you want, it won't change a thing. Deny it till the day you die—and that is a very far off day, lovie—it'll still be true. Always true. Forever true, a truth that not even Jehovah Himself in His hall of pearl and ivory can turn false.

Something is taken and something is given… something is lost, another thing found.

You were never in danger, not since your mother burned. John could search the world, but he wouldn't find the demon till It wanted to be found, and that would only be when It discovered a way around your mother's promise.

Salvation is in your blood, you know. But you don't, do you? She didn't get the chance to tell you, either of you.

But everyone keeps dying, taking your place, and you don't understand why. You don't think you're worthy, good enough, think you haven't earned it.

You don't _earn_ sacrifice, Dean. You can't. It's given to you, freely, with no expectation of remuneration, because _there is none_. You mother chose, your father chose—and Marshall Hall never got the choice, but neither did you or Sam, so you have to stop blaming yourself for that. You didn't take the heart from his chest; Sue Ann, the _bitch_, did. And if it hadn't gone to you, it'd have gone to someone else. He was dead either way, and how much good have you done with his heart?

More than most men will ever manage in their lifetime. Much more. And it isn't finished. Not by a long shot.

But, see, the thing is? Now there's a void. He thought he was saving you, but he only opened a door. And now… now, things are crawling out of that door, nasty things, dark things. They're hunters, kind of like you, but not really like you, because you're good at a base level and they only want to sow destruction and then reap the blood.

_What_ did I say about pacing? Now, was that language called for? I didn't script this, Dean. You think I want this? Think I want to know what happened, what will happen, and what is happening? You're cracking beneath the load, taking too heavy a burden, and won't let anyone help. Not even Sam.

Everyone who's anyone knows what John did. Jehovah and Beezelebub and everyone in-between. It echoes between this world and the next, shakes the foundations of Heaven.

She died for you, so that this wouldn't come to pass. She knew, you see. She _knew_.

Sam… he's not what they're after, that demon and It's horde. Not really. Even It was fooled for a while, though, fooled for a long while. She was good, your mother, one of the best weavers the world has ever seen. Will ever see. And the deception… it was flawless.

But then John made the deal. They're called _devil deals_ for a reason, and they always come back to bite their makers in the ass.

With big fucking fangs.

_Stop the pacing_! Damn, but what a nightmare you must have been, huh? Never able to sit still except when you're about to kill something, always gotta move, gotta move. Sheesh.

And you keep making me lose my train of thought.

Oh, god, not the puppy eyes. Has anyone ever told you just how damn _big_ your eyes are? Just like that kitty from the ogre movie.

Never, _ever_ tell _anyone_ I said kitty, okay? Thank you.

Don't worry, I was almost done anyway. I'm sure he's fine on his own for a few hours, Dean. He's got his own guardians, almost as good as yours.

See… how can I put this? I have all these pretty phrases, platitudes and the like… but you don't want those. You don't want fancy wrapping and beautiful bows. You just want the truth, even if you can't handle it.

Which you can, you know. You could carry mountains, if you had to. Easily.

Don't look so puffed up. The old and dying give compliments away at the drop of a hat. Not that that makes it less true…

And, yep, there goes my train of thought… god, what a distraction you are.

He thought he did the right thing, your father. Giving himself for his son, his eldest, his soldier. For you. But… you were never on the edge. You weren't dying, you were just restin'. Recharging.

The demon thought It wanted your brother, but this thing has _always_ been about you. Sam is a good consolation prize, and things are about to get far more messy because now _everything_ knows it.

Your mother sealed the door shut with blood and fire. Your father blew it wide open with determination and a Colt.

Life's funny that way.

The fact that he screwed the world over and made things a billion times worse doesn't negate that he did it with love.

No… I'm fine. Really. Just old. I've seen so much, that's happened and will… but, now, at last. It's done. _I'm_ done. I've waited years to tell you…

There's always a choice, Dean. And what your dad told you? It's the truth. You were always walking a hard road, but there's a second side to any event, and you don't have to walk alone.

Now, go on. Get out of here and let an old woman rest. He's waitin' for you.


	25. Locked Doors and Barred Windows

**Title**: Locked Doors and Barred Windows

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters save the ones who are. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot

**Pairings**: Jessica/OMC, Sam/Jessica, very lightly implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1930

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Jessica knew that Sam loved her. She also knew there were parts of him she couldn't touch, never came _close_ to touching. He had walls and locks, so many doors she couldn't open without a key—but, still, she was certain he loved her. 

They met on her twentieth birthday. She'd been out with her sisters, Molly and Kate; he was their waiter. Molly had shamelessly flirted with him. He'd blushed at every comment directed his way, got flustered, messed up their orders. It was so adorable none of them could be angry with him.

Molly, the oldest at twenty-four, pinned his age at nineteen or twenty, a puppy-dog manboy. She looked pointedly at Jessica; _Ask him out, _her eyes said.

Jessica shook her head, blushing for all she was worth. Molly always tried to fix her up, with her friends, with their cousins' friends, with strangers on the street.

Kate, at eighteen, was just cashing in on having Molly for a sister and spent the whole dinner laughing at Molly's flirtations and Sam's embarrassment.

After they finished and left a big tip, Jessica looked back and saw him smiling while watching them leave.

For two weeks she couldn't get him out of her head, couldn't erase his smile or the way his voice called to a part of her she didn't know she had.

Then Daniel, another English major, asked her out. He was gorgeous, a blond-haired, blue-eyed California boy. His skin was sun-kissed and he'd the body of a swimmer—they made a beautiful couple, entering the restaurant, and by chance they were seated in Sam's section.

She wondered if he remembered her as he took their drink orders, and by his smile she knew he did.

Daniel kept up a steady stream of conversation, about books and professors and movies. She nodded, made noises of agreement, but she was watching Sam.

He was tall, one of the tallest men she'd ever seen. She couldn't tell through his uniform, but she'd bet he was in better shape than Daniel. Sam's hair flopped adorably into his eyes, a dark brown bordering on black, and his eyes were green, an absolutely stunning shade she'd swear she could get lost in.

_Okay, _she told herself, _cut back on studying the waiter. You're here with Daniel. Focus on him. _

Jessica tuned back into the conversation and began actually responding. But she couldn't help notice that Daniel's smile was nowhere near as beautiful as Sam's and didn't kindle a fire in her soul.

She and Daniel didn't go out again after that.

-

A month passed. She learned Sam's schedule and became a regular. They talked, learned about each other.

He was in pre-law, working three jobs to make rent. He'd gotten a free ride, but couldn't live in the dorm they provided.

"I need space," he said, explaining with a shrug. She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

Jessica spoke about her childhood, with Molly and Kate, and the brother who died when she was ten.

"He was sixteen," she told him softly, her coke held tightly between her hands. "He'd just gotten the car." Tears pooled in her eyes, as they always did when she thought of Greg. "It wasn't his fault. The-the _bastard**—**_" she always called him that, no matter who she was talking to "—was driving drunk. He hit Greg. Greg died instantly."

A few tears slid down her cheeks; Sam leaned forward and wiped them away. "I'm sorry," he whispered. She looked up and met his eyes.

"Do you have a brother?" she asked and he nodded.

"Dean. He's four years older than me." Something in Sam softened and tightened at the same time. "He pretty much raised me."

She smiled and reached out, touching his hand. He looked at her hand, then into her eyes and smiled in return.

-

They began dating after that. She told him everything; her past was an open book and she hid nothing.

But Sam—she knew there were things he didn't tell her and probably never would. She knew his dad wasn't happy he'd chosen college—which, honestly, shocked the hell out of her and didn't make any sense—and that his childhood hadn't been as happy as hers.

He wasn't abused, she was fairly certain of that, even though his body was horribly scarred. Sam didn't explain and finally she quit asking.

They moved in together after six months of dating. Molly smirked at her. "What do you say, Jessie?"

Jessica laughed and hugged her. "Thanks, Mol," she whispered in her big sister's ear. "Thanks for flirting with the hottest waiter in the world."

"No prob," Molly replied and fluffed Jessica's hair.

They resumed packing up boxes of Jessica's stuff. It would mostly be her junk making the new apartment livable because Sam didn't have much: clothes, textbooks, binders, and three pictures—and that was all.

"Who's this?" she'd asked, the first time she'd been in his apartment. The photo was of a man—an absolutely _gorgeous_ man—with short dark blond hair and hazel eyes. He grinned at the camera, looking completely happy; he wore a blue shirt with a leather jacket over it.

"Dean," Sam'd answered and then said, "C'mon, Jess, the kitchen's this way."

Jessica knew that the Dean picture—and the others, of Sam's parents and the one of him and Dean—would have a special place on their wall.

Sam's past was so mysterious. His body was so scarred, so strong, and his mind sharp as a whip. His temper was long; he'd try his best to defuse a situation before he'd get mad, and usually it worked. She'd only seen him angry once, when they'd been at a party. Some guy had danced too close to her, entered her space, and touched her where she only let Sam touch her.

Sam had moved quicker than she'd seen anyone move before, liquid grace like Diego, Molly's old cat. She had never noticed how dangerous he could look before.

He grabbed the groper's shoulder and swung him around, lifting him up, and said, "Leave her alone." His voice was hard and cold, frozen rage, and Jessica couldn't figure out the expression on his face.

They left the party and Sam returned to being her calm, collected boyfriend. He laughed and smiled, and they never spoke of his actions. That night, cuddled against his broad chest, held in his arms, Jessica wondered about him. About his past, about the scars she'd spent hours tracing.

"Tell me about Dean," she whispered, thinking he was asleep and wouldn't hear her.

"He protected me," Sam whispered back. "He taught me almost everything I know. It nearly killed him when I left." He chuckled sadly, pulling her closer. "I made him pick sides, me or Dad. I did that so often growing up. I regret it now, looking back. He hated it, picking one of us." He sighed, nuzzling her hair. "How could I _do_ that to him, Jess?"

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself up and kissing him softly on the lips. "Because he was your big brother, Sam. You said he took care of you. Of course you'd go to him to help you." She slid back down and snuggled against him. "Thank you," she said, knowing what it had cost him to speak of the past.

She fell asleep to his silent sobbing, wondering how to comfort him about wounds she couldn't see.

-

It was a year after the party and she'd almost forgotten how dangerous Sam could be.

They were happy, thinking of marriage and children, and he'd met the rest of her family, not just Molly and Kate. Her mom loved him and Daddy respected him.

"Reminds me of Greg," her daddy said then kissed her forehead goodbye.

Molly and Kate teased him mercilessly about how embarrassed he'd been when they first met. He took it all gracefully and even teased back, making everyone laugh.

To everyone but Jessica he seemed happy, completely normal, like he belonged. To Jessica, however, he seemed like a wolf among a pack of Chihuahuas. He could pretend well, she realized, and she also realized she didn't know him at all.

It scared her for a moment, but then he smiled at her and she was happily lost in his eyes.

But it was an eye-opener when she saw him beside his brother the first—and last—time.

-

She woke to a loud thump and harsh voices. Sam wasn't beside her and she hurried up, to the living room, where she flicked the light.

Sam stood face to face with someone—a gorgeous someone, a man she recognized and quite suddenly placed. _Dean_, her soul whispered. _He's finally come for you, Sam_.

Ever since Sam had spoken of Dean, ever since she heard his voice say all that stuff about his brother, she'd known they had borrowed time.

Sam went through the motions of introducing his brother to his girlfriend, but all three of them knew it was just that—the motions.

But he'd made a commitment to Jessica, and she knew he'd honor it. That was the man he was. Whatever Dean had come for, Jessica knew Sam'd want to stay, to help his brother—he'd fallen back into _Sam, Dean's brother_, so easily...

But he'd come back, and he'd stay with her, and he'd finish college, and they'd marry. They'd have kids and be together till one of them died.

And he'd eventually hate her, but he'd hate himself more.

She saw it clearly, a vision of what would be if he came back to her and left Dean behind again.

Jessica wanted to kiss him goodbye, but instead he kissed her cheek and left with Dean. She watched from the window as they drove away.

When Sam came back, she'd tell him it was over, to return to his brother, where she knew with complete certainty he belonged.

-

She never had the chance, but, ironically enough, it happened all the same.

Her death brought to pass what she would have caused anyway. Her death sent Sam and Dean careening together, a destiny they could never have escaped.

A destiny neither of them _wanted_ to escape.

Jessica had him for awhile, but he was never hers. But he did love her. She knew he loved her. There were parts of him she never touched, never even came close. His walls were too high, too thick. The windows were barred and the doors locked so tightly—she hadn't the key or the strength to open them, but she'd have willingly spent her life trying—

But Dean... even in that small window she had into their world, she could see Dean open doors she hadn't even known were there.

She wanted to call her sisters, to tell someone, anyone—it hurt her, but she knew she had to let him go.

Molly and Kate, Momma and Daddy—Greg—her family never knew how strong she was. No one did but the thing that killed her to get to Sam. It couldn't get to Dean for some reason—it ranted about that but it didn't say why. Jessica's soul smiled because her body couldn't anymore—Sam and Dean would live and the demon/monster/thing _couldn't touch them_.

She died knowing her death would keep Sam safe, keep Sam with Dean, where he belonged.

Her blood dropped onto him, she burst into flames, and the last thing she saw before Greg's face was Dean pulling Sam away.


	26. Mirror

**Title**: Mirror

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: Jess, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend's brother aren't my creations. Alas.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica, possible implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point of view**: third

* * *

She's been twenty for nine minutes when she meets Sam. January 24, 8:07 in the morning—cut from Mom's womb because she'd gotten all turned around. Two days late, bawling and fighting, angry at being shoved into the harsh, bright world, so Grandpa frequently said.

She's late for class and he's cutting across campus, legs eating up the distance. She's rushing headlong and he's tall enough to not see her. She goes bouncing back and his humongous arm reaches out to catch her, holds her as easily as she holds a kitten.

And damned if that ain't supernova _hot_.

-

She didn't expect to see him again, much less date him, move in with him, die for him. She didn't expect to fall in love with his laughter, his voice, the way he held her close, and told her everything—told her nothing. She didn't expect to be unable to imagine a life without him.

She's been twenty-one for almost twelve months when she dies, carved and burning, watching Dean—_a_ _mirror?—_force Sam from the room.

She's been in love with Sam for longer than that, and she knows—she _knows_—that she doesn't know everything, could probably _never_ know everything, but she knows more than enough.

So, even though she's never been more terrified in her life, she smirks at the shadow/man/monster/_thing_ to the best of her ability and refuses to scream.

_A mirror, yes_, the thing muses, letting her hear as they both watch Sam and Dean leave the fire. _A slanted mirror, a faulty mirror—but, still a mirror_ _nonetheless_. She dies to it chuckling, _How interesting_.


	27. DeadEnd

**Title**: Dead-End

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for "No Exit"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 400

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She dies alone when she's twenty-one.

-

She's alone and terrified, and looking at the chamber around her, she can see where others have died. Fought and clawed and screamed, probably, but still died.

She kicks at the walls, punches them, claws and scratches and shrieks. Her voice echoes around her and nothing is changed.

Mom told her she wasn't ready. She's sure the Winchesters are looking for her. Dean told her she couldn't cut it.

The surety of death calms her. Her breathing quiets.

They will not find her. Just like no one before her has been found.

The claw marks prove that.

-

It takes days. Slow, agonizing days. She can't be sure how many, but it takes them forever. She feels her stomach clenching, and she would beg for food, if she thought it'd get her anywhere.

He looks at her sometimes, the ghost. H.H. Holmes, America's first serial killer.

Dean told her she sure knew how to pick him, and damn if that ain't true.

She wanted to be close to her daddy, to honor his memory, and instead she'll shame him forever by dying on her first hunt.

She's dying, starving and thirsty, and she doesn't want to cry. She runs her fingers along the claw-marks and her eyes water with tears she can't spare.

-

She closes her eyes and tries to imagine Heaven. Daddy's there, and Grandma, friends who have died on the hunt.

She hopes Dean won't blame himself; he couldn't have done anything. She knows now what a fool she was, silly little girl who wasn't ready. She wasn't ready. She thought she was, so sure in her knowledge; firing a gun at a steady target isn't the same thing as fighting a ghost that kills for fun.

She thought she was ready, but Mom and Dean were right. She thought she was ready and the price paid for her stubborn pride is her life.

-

She dies alone when she's twenty-one, dies thirsty and starving, dies sleepy and frightened. She dies alone, sooner than she'd ever imagined, and doubts her remains will ever be found. She dies alone but for a ghost. She dies alone, calm and sure, eyes dry and body cold.

She closes her eyes, so tired, so thirsty, so hungry…

And everything fades.

-

She dies alone when she's twenty-one and her body is never found.


	28. forever feels like home

**Title**: forever feels like home

**Disclaimer**: all mine. Title from "Through Glass" by Stone Sour.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Devil's Trap" and "In My Time Of Dying"

**Pairings**: OMC/OFC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 250

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: After Tessa healed Dean… where did his wounds go?

* * *

His name is John Smith. He's nineteen and six two, with black hair and green eyes.

And he's dying, bleeding out into the rain.

-

His girlfriend's name is Annabelle Farmer. They've been dating for two years, five months, twelve days, and sixteen hours. He loves making her smile, loves tickling her till she begs for mercy. He's been thinking about asking her to marry him—would, if he didn't know she'd refuse him, citing that they're too young.

He's got two brothers and a sister; Kevin's older by five years, Nate's younger by four, and Torie is his twin, three minutes younger.

His parents have been married for nigh on half a century, and look to be married for another half.

And he's dying, as his intestines are shredded and his bones shatter.

-

He's on his way to Annabelle's, to study for a major test in their one shared class. They'd have probably studied for about thirty minutes and then made out.

He has lunch planned with Kevin tomorrow, and a movie date with Torie—she wants to watch _Fellowship of the_ _Ring_, though he's thinking about a D horror movie called _Devour_.

And he's dying, as his lungs collapse.

-

The wheels spin, the car groans, and the tree stands firm.

Lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, and the radio still plays—"Bad Moon Rising."

He thinks about Dad's strong grip, Annabelle's kiss, Mama's hug, Kevin's laugh, Nate's smile, and Torie's eyes, Torie's warmth. Annabelle's love.

And he's dying, eyes wide open.


	29. Charon

**Title**: Charon

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "No Exit"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 240

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: Remember the girl from the start of the episode?

* * *

Her name was Melanie, when she was alive. But now that's she's dead, she can't remember.

Around her, everything is hazy, like she's in a cloud. Not that she remembers what clouds are. She doesn't; she can't remember anything. She moves her arms and hands, waves them, bats at the mist she can't feel but can see, and wonders.

She hears others, sometimes. Crying, begging, screaming. She never makes a sound.

Sometimes, she hears _him_. He's loud, takes up more space then she thinks she ever could. He murmurs, mutters, whispers, and often, lightly touches her hair. Him, she can feel; her skin burns when it comes in contact with his.

Her name was Melanie, back when she was alive. She used to think about Heaven, when Mom dragged her to church. Used to think long and hard about God and the afterlife and doing what was right because it was _right_, not for a reward. She used to pray every night, for forgiveness and mercy, for Dad to get better, even if it was cancer and the doctors said nothing could be done, for Vince training to be a soldier, for that job to come through so she could get out of Mom's hair.

Her name was Melanie and she can't remember it, can't remember anything but the feel of his spectral hand on her and his useless breath against her face and his voice echoing in her ears: _So pretty. _


	30. what a little girl's made of

**Title**: what a little girl's made of

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Gunpowder and Lead" by Miranda Lambert.

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1225

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She's not the girl she was when they first broke into Mama's saloon. She's not that wide-eyed innocent, charmed by a roguish grin and huge hazel eyes. She's not young and naïve anymore, out to prove herself to the world in general, and that man in particular.

She thinks she might have loved him. Now… now, though, she knows what she has to do.

-

Dean changed, after. Sam died in that ghost town, and everyone knows it. Knew it. Whatever. And what Dean brought back… it wasn't his brother.

She figures she understands, though. From the moment she first saw Dean Winchester, she knew he'd light the world afire and watch it burn for his brother.

She just never thought it'd really come to pass.

-

But Sam died, and then wasn't Sam anymore. Dean changed slowly, so slowly no one even noticed.

Sam—_NotSam_—played the game well. Perfectly. Until Dean killed Bobby, not a single person knew.

Until Dean killed Bobby in front of a room packed to the gills with hunters, and Sam—_NotSam_—smiled, not a single person in the world had a fucking _clue_.

-

The hunters became the hunted that day, with Dean—NotDean?—and NotSam cutting a swath from one ocean to the other.

Mom practically grabbed her and ran, heading for a cabin high up in the mountains. "No one knows about this place," Mom told her, digging guns out of the closet. "Not even your daddy did."

And Mom added, "Stay here," with a kiss to her forehead as she left.

-

Jo hasn't heard from Mama since. It's been over four months. There's no news from the outside world, but from the highest peak, she sees smoke.

Sometimes, she thinks she's the only one left. It terrifies her. Being alone in the world… it's a lonesome thing, and Jo's never done well by herself.

-

She thinks it's a Thursday when she leaves the cabin, with five knives and three guns. She walks down the mountain, staring at the ground and sky in equal measure, searching for any sign of life.

There's nothing.

-

The town is deserted. Jo remembers when it brimmed with life, with families and dogs, with kids laughing.

There are abandoned cars and bones everywhere. The buildings are gutted and blackened. There's not a single sound beyond the wind in the trees; only the plants have flourished in this new world.

It makes Jo want to break down and sob.

-

She wanders the country, always on the look-out for survivors. There are feral animals, every now and then, but apparently not even creatures escaped the purge. Nothing that breathed and moved made it past the NotWinchester's attack. Jo wonders why.

Half a year after she left Mama's sanctuary, Jo finds a puppy. She thinks it might be a mix of Burmese mountain dog and Husky, but she's just not sure. Bobby would've known.

She names the dog Ares.

-

Ares grows in leaps and bounds over the next year. He's huge, shoulder reaching her hip, and she feels safe with him at her side.

It isn't hard to scrounge up food in this new world; it sits in all the houses, in the stores, waiting for scavengers that never come.

They all died, too.

-

Mom told her once that John Winchester was basically the best that'd ever been. Smart and brave, stubborn enough to move mountains. A marine, years ago, and yet still untamable as the sea.

Jo always thought she was exaggerating, until John's boys broke into the Roadhouse. After that, she figured Mom hadn't been telling everything.

And John's boys surpassed John with ease.

-

No one saw it coming. Totally out of left-field, completely out of the blue. From nowhere.

The perfect surgical strike to take out the hunters came from the best hunters there'd ever been.

Irony at its most beautiful.

-

Jo finds a little boy when Ares is one-and-a-half. The kid can't be more than five or six, as feral as a wildcat. It takes her the better part of a month to convince him she's safe, won't hurt him.

Even after he quits shying away from her, he won't speak. She names him Cade.

He's the first living person she's seen since Mama left her behind.

-

She doesn't know where to start searching for the NotWinchesters or what she'll do if she finds them. What can she do? No weapons hurt them—no weapon can even get close enough.

Hunters tried.

Maybe that Colt… but Mama said the last bullet had been used.

So there's nothing. Nothing at all. Just her and a dog and a boy, no where to go, no end in sight.

-

Cade says his first word a year after she finds him. He calls her "Mommy." Jo buries her face in his long, dark hair and weeps.

-

She comes across the Colt—Mama had showed it to her, after Dean used it that final time, before hiding it away and not telling her—in a graveyard two months after Cade speaks. There aren't any bullets, but maybe she has chance.

Jo scoffs and tucks the Colt into the back of her jeans. There are no chances, not anymore.

-

It's when she's not actively looking for them that she finds them. Turns a corner in the shell Atlanta's become and there he is—Dean Winchester. NotDean. Monster and killer, and still so fucking gorgeous it aches.

He grins at her, that same grin she remembers, and says, "Hey, Jo."

Jo pushes Cade behind her; Ares slinks up besides her, edging slightly in front, and snarls, baring his teeth. She'd known he could look intimidating, but, wow—even she's slightly frightened, and Ares has never given her a cross look.

NotDean's grin shifts into a smirk. "Thought we'd killed everyone—can't say, though, that I'm surprised you made it." He laughs and steps closer. "Your mom sure was a fighter."

Fury wells up in her, along with hate. She used to love this man, she's sure of that now. "Cade," she whispers. "Run."

Her boy takes off; Jo tells Ares, "Go with him."

Ares hesitates, flicking an ear, then whirls around and follows Cade. Jo doesn't move her gaze from Dean, but his eyes shift towards her only living family. "Think they'll get that far, sweetheart?" he asks, then chuckles, "Think again."

The Colt is loaded with silver bullets. They won't do a thing to Dean, NotDean, what the fuck ever he is. But she's got to try.

He laughs when the first bullet hits him the heart.

-

Jo runs. She can't find Ares or Cade, hasn't seen NotSam, so she stretches her legs and runs. She doesn't stop for miles, the Colt—useless fucking gun—clenched in her grip. She wants to throw it away, to break it, to punish it for failing… but it's the only chance she has, at all. To avenge Mama. Bobby.

Ares and Cade.

-

She waits, by the Pacific coast. Eventually, one of them will come for her.

She doesn't have the right bullets, just blessed silver with runes etched into the metal, but maybe… maybe it'll be enough.

There's thunder in the distance and lightning splits the sky in two. She cocks the gun and waits.


	31. Fairy Tales and Nursery Rhymes

**Title**: Fairy Tales and Nursery Rhymes  
**Disclaimer**: not my characters; my rhyme. Just for fun.  
**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot  
**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica  
**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 480  
**Point** **of** view: third

* * *

She wakes up to Sam rattling around the kitchen and sighs in happiness. She's lucky enough to have found a guy that loves pampering her—and there's no way she'll ever put a stop to that. Breakfast in bed, flowers three times a week, and a man dedicated to making her come first? She had to have been a saint in another life to earn this kind of reward.

He starts singing and she settles back into the blankets, content to just listen for a while. He doesn't fully relax that often, but in the five months they've lived together, she's figured out that whenever he sings, he's let himself go.

At first the words make no sense, but then he loops back around and her eyes widen.

_Hey, diddle diddle,  
__The cat's in the fiddle  
__And the house jumped over the moon.  
__The three blind mice  
__Were sliced and diced,  
__And the rabbit got put in bunny stew._

Laughter spills out of her and she rolls over onto her belly, burying her face in the pillow. She doesn't want to interrupt his moment, to get his defenses up, but that song? Out of everything he could pick to sing?

Sam goes silent for a minute. Then, he calls, "Jess?" through the apartment. "You awake?"

"Yeah," she answers, resigning herself to getting up. "I'm taking a shower, then I'll be in there."

She needs the time to think up a way of asking about that song that won't make him clam up.

-  
Jessica pads into the kitchen wearing one of Sam's shirts and watches him for a moment. He turns off the griddle and glances over his shoulder with a smile, setting a plate of pancakes on the table. "Morning," he says.

She smiles back and walks to the table, sinking down into her chair. "Hey," she replies, reaching up to grip his arm. He leans over and presses a kiss to her hair.

As he settles into his place, handing her the syrup, Jessica asks, "Where'd that rhyme come from?"

To her relief and surprise, he doesn't pretend to not know what she means.

"My brother," he tells her, his voice slipping into that soft drawl he has sometimes. "It used to be hard for me to sleep, so he'd make up little things, lullabies, you know?" He laughed, looking past her. "He was nine when he made that one up."

Sam shook his head and focused back on her. "So, today's your day off, right? What d'ya wanna do?"

"I was thinkin' we could see _Shrek 2_," she responds, ripping her pancake apart with a fork. "But if there's something else you'd rather do…"

He smiles, one of those sunshine-smiles she adores. "No, we can go see a movie."

God, Jessica loves this man. She can believe they'll be together forever, and the future's never looked so beautiful.


	32. To the Victor

**Title**: To the Victor

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 2

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He moves like a song and her eyes drink him in. Ellen watches her baby girl and John's boy, wondering how long until Jo follows him out the door. It's a cold, hard world, and she knows Dean won't take care of her girl. He's only got room for his brother in his heart. Everyone else falls to the wayside—always have, always will.

Ellen knows Dean's tricks—they're the same ones Bill pulled on her, years ago. Dean's better than Bill was; missed his calling as an actor, the boy did. He's all sleek cat and knight in shining armor. Ain't a girl in the world that's got a chance against his sunshine-grin and brilliant eyes.

She doesn't begrudge him his fun; Jo should know better. From the moment those boys broke into her Roadhouse, Ellen could see they had only each other. She can't figure out how her daughter missed it.

Of course, it's not the kind of thing a young woman would want to see. Two boys like that? Dean's been taken since he was just a little thing, if Ellen's guess is right.

Pity, though. Boy looks like that—the grandchildren would all be absolutely _gorgeous_.


	33. by blood

**Title**: by blood

**Disclaimer**: Dean doesn't belong to me.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Shadow," though nothing blatant.

**Pairings**: mentions of OMC/OFC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She knows who he is the minute he walks in the door, struts his way to the desk. She knows what he'll ask before he asks it; when he utters the words, she makes it easy, giving him what he needs.

Grandma Anna made sure that all of them—her, Gabe, Vic, and Annie—would be a boon to the descendants of the man that let them live.

_Robert Winchester gave us our_ _lives_, Grandma Anna told them, as they crouched at her knees, half-human and half-raven. _Hundreds of other hunters would have killed my father and mother, soon as look at 'em. But Winchester let them live. So I now give you his scent, as my mother gave it to me. _ She reached into their minds and showed them how to recognize Winchester's blood.

Robert Winchester's great-grandson stands before her and she knows him—so she tells him everything.


	34. with a whimper

**Title**: with a whimper

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season two

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 535

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

They catch him half a step north of the Rio Grande when Sam's been dead six days. He doesn't even try to run or fight.

Victor is disappointed. Two years, he's chased the fucker, and at the end, Winchester just… gives up.

-

When he got the call, Victor couldn't believe it.

Sam Winchester's body, one bullet in the heart, unharmed but for that—left like trash on the northern rim of the Grand Canyon. Something was very wrong with the picture.

Victor couldn't figure it, at first. Half of the most wanted pair in the US, abandoned by the man who'd kill cities for him? Didn't make sense.

But then Gordon Walker, newly escaped from prison, turned himself in and confessed to the premeditated murder of one Sammy Winchester. Then he said the magic words: _I can get you Dean_.

-

"They're supposed to—well, _were_ supposed to meet up in Mexico City," Walker told Victor. "By now, though, Dean'll know somethin's wrong. Wouldn't surprise me if he already knows Sammy's dead."

He didn't sound remorseful at all and Victor had to know. "Why'd you do it?"

"Kid was damned unnatural," Walker answered, a fanatic light in his eyes. "The world's a better place now that he's gone."

-

Walker gave them Winchester's last known location and from there the trail was easy. He wasn't even trying to mask his tracks. Victor knew from that that somehow Winchester had learned of his brother's death.

But he'd expected something more. A defiant last stand. Not the broken man who came silently and never met Victor's eyes.

-

Winchester offers no defense, no argument. He sits quietly in the cell and at the table. Even when put on the stand and ordered by the judge, he never speaks.

He asks once to see Sam's body. Those five words are all he says for eight months.

-

People visit him in prison—Bobby Singer, Ellen Harvelle, Missouri Mosley. He never says a thing to them, either.

-

Victor is the one that takes him to Sam. A dozen men, ex-SEALs and ex-SWAT, come with them.

Winchester looks at the body, touches Sam's hair. He says nothing. Victor misses the smart-ass he used to be.

Winchester spends ten minutes with Sam, just carding his hair, and then their time is up.

-

Dean Winchester is a model prisoner. He never gets in fights or mouths off—in fact, he never speaks at all. He unnerves the other inmates so much that they leave him alone.

Victor keeps tabs on him, waiting. He's sure the man he chased will reappear, the minute eyes are off him.

But eight months after Sam's body was found, Dean Winchester turns up dead in his cell.

There isn't a thing wrong with him, beyond his heart not beating.

Victor is at a loss, so he goes to South Dakota and Bobby Singer.

-

Singer nods when Victor tells him. "His year was up," the man says. "Stupid boy." But he says nothing else.

Singer is the one who claims the body, just like he took Sam's. "I'll see to it," he tells the authorities.

Victor just lets it go. He never understood the Winchesters, and he sees now he never will.


	35. child of my right hand, and joy

**Title**: child of my right hand, and joy

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Ben Jonson.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season two

**Pairings**: none

**Wordcount**: 510

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Bobby met John Winchester by accident, on his last hunt. John was still just a pup by hunter standards, still burning with rage at Mary's murder.

Fool boy nearly got himself killed and Bobby saved his life. John was bleeding from his left shoulder, a wound like Bobby hadn't seen in years. They were half a day from Bobby's house, but a hospital was only twenty miles down the road.

John was in no shape to argue, so Bobby hauled his ass to the emergency room.

-

Two days passed before John was in any condition to introduce himself, or tell Bobby about his boys. He gave Bobby the room number.

Bobby went to the motel, wondering when he became a 'sitter for baby hunters and their kids. He let himself into the room with John's key, immediately searching for the boys. They were huddled together in the bathroom, the older no more than five and the younger still just an infant.

"Dean," Bobby said softly, like he talked to his dogs. "I was sent by your daddy. He wants me to bring you to him."

The boy's hazel eyes were wary, and he shifted so that the baby was more behind him.

"He said to tell you that the password is _toss around a football_," Bobby continued.

At that, to Bobby's relief, Dean relaxed and allowed Bobby to pick Sam up, lead them to his truck. Sam babbled to Bobby, but nothing he could understand; Dean never made a sound.

He dropped the boys off with John and headed home, never expecting to see them again.

But he did, a dozen times over the years. He came to love the boys like nephews, though John often got on his nerves. The last time he saw John alive, John told him to keep out of his affairs when Bobby asked him about Sam. They'd never agreed that John raised his boys right, and John started in on how Bobby had no kids of his own, where the hell did he get off?

Bobby reached for his shotgun, cocked it, and said, "Get the hell of my land, Winchester."

John went, Dean with him, and Bobby never saw John again.

Maybe, Bobby thought later, he should've told John about Catherine and the baby that died with her, but by then it was too late.

-

Bobby knew the boys when they were babies, knew them as stormy teenagers, knew them as men.

After Jim and John's deaths, he was the one that knew them best in the world. So when he saw Sam dead in Dean's arms, Bobby knew the boy would do something. He flashed back to that first time in the bathroom—twenty-four years gone and yet nothing had changed.

Dean was his daddy's son, and Sam was all he had. Bobby wished he could keep Dean from doing something stupid and irrevocable, but he knew better.

So he helped Dean move Sam. He knew them at their beginning, and he was determined to know them at their end.


	36. Twenty cannot make him drink

**Title**: Twenty cannot make him drink

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 575

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She had the first dream the night before she met Sam. She was in a dark room, an insubstantial observer, watching a young man—twenty-three or twenty-four—have a minor freak-out. He banged on the room's only door, kicked the walls, and cursed—fluently, emphatically, and loudly.

Jessica couldn't make out much of his features, but he moved like he was hurt. He shifted into the scant light filtering in through the tiny window high up on the wall, which lit up his hazel eyes—and she woke.

-

The second dream came five months later, after the first time she and Sam made love.

The man was bleeding in another room, this one old and musty. He was barely conscious, quickly fading; Jessica knelt beside him, unsure of what she could actually do, if anything.

It was just a dream, after all. The man wasn't real, couldn't be.

His eyes opened to merely a slit, focused on her. "… angel?" he gasped out and she woke up.

-

She had the third a year after. She was curled up in Sam's arms, happy with the world. She had forgotten the man since the last dream, but now the memories came streaming back at the pain on his face, held in the lines of his body. He was limping up a flight of stairs, tears coursing down his cheeks, his left arm clenched tightly to his chest. He looked defeated, and the expression hurt her.

He collapsed, there on the stairs, no one to help but her. She moved over to him, knelt beside him. "C'mon," she said, touching his shoulder. "Get up."

He didn't react. She gripped his shoulder. "I said," she growled, "_get up_."

His eyes opened. He minutely turned his head, trying to focus on her. "'g'way," he muttered. "'m'tired."

She glared at him. "If you don't get up these stairs, you'll die."

"'m'_tired," _he repeated.

Jessica stood and reached down, placing her hands in his armpits, lifting. He barely moved but it was enough: he got the idea and forced his feet under him.

"Bitch," he said, and she laughed.

She helped him to the landing, where a door stood open. A bag was abandoned on the other side.

"'m'phone," he gasped, sliding down the wall.

She dug in the knapsack till she found his cell, pressed it into his hand. His fingers clutched at it, but it slipped to the floor. Jessica picked his phone up and scrolled through his numbers till she found one labeled Dad. As she called it, she wondered why she didn't dial nine-one-one instead.

"Dean?" a deep voice answered and Jessica fell back into her body.

That's when she knew they were more than dreams. This Dean, whoever he was, was just as real as her and Sam. And somehow, she'd traveled to wherever he was, helped him when he needed it. But she couldn't figure out why.

And she couldn't talk to anyone about him. Not even Sam.

-

The fourth and final dream happened the night Sam left. It wasn't even much of one, just a flash of Dean in a car, driving down a dark highway.

Jessica woke alone in bed, to the sound of a tussle down the hall. She flicked on the den light and discovered that her dream-Dean was, in fact, Sam's brother.

There was no recognition on his face, in his eyes. And that hurt almost as much as Sam's goodbye.


	37. writ in water

**Title**: writ in water

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from John Keats' epitaph.

**Warnings**: futurefic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 185

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The legend grows with each telling, like all stories do. By the hundredth anniversary of their death, not much of the truth is remembered. Those who knew them personally are a dying breed, very few and quite far between.

But the myth grows.

-

They were not princes or knights, though they were honorable men. They never killed unless necessary, and they never drew out the act. They never harmed children. They fought the darkness, no matter the personal cost, and they won—

Centuries pass and that is remembered. Though the price was high, they _won_.

-

Michael is the last who knew them, and he dies thanking them for his life.

Records are kept, by police and hunters and diaries handed from parent to child.

They are leaves on the wind, never in one place long, there and then gone, easy to forget but easier to remember, gifting strangers who never see them again with peace.

-

The legend grows with each telling, until the men they were are truly gone, save for their souls.

They fought the darkness, and though it cost them their lives—they _won_.


	38. cuckoo in the nest

**Title**: cuckoo in the nest

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season two

**Pairings**: none, really

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

_There's a cuckoo in the nest, John. Of course, the question is—which one? Which of Mary's boys isn't yours?_

_It'd've been so easy to find out, Johnny. A little blood test, one of the many times you took them to the hospital over the years. But, John, you didn't want to know. _

_And now… now, hunter, **killer**, it's too late. _

_Too late for you, for them, for her—too late for the world. _

_There's a cuckoo in the nest, John. One of her boys is wrong, dark… **mine**. They're both murderers, you know. You made them that way. And entirely too wrapped up in each other, wouldn't you say? _

_See, Johnny, the thing is… when it all comes down to it, no matter which is the cuckoo, they're both mine. Those boys would follow each other into Hell… which they will. _

_Isn't it interesting to wonder—Sam with his visions, Dean with his inability to stay dead… neither's entirely normal, John. Is that because of Mary… or because of me? Or, Hell, even because of **you**, hunter. Wouldn't that just be the most ironic thing? _

_Don't look at me like that, Johnny. If you wanna blame anyone… blame Mary. _


	39. to be thankful

**Title**: to be thankful

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season two

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

John Winchester has turned his older boy into the most perfect soldier. It shall have to thank the hunter for that. It wonders if John will be conscious enough to comprehend.

-

Sam is the only of Its children with true family; the rest are all changelings, left with humans after the babe died. But Sam really _was_ conceived of humans, grew in a human womb, fed of his blood-mother's milk.

And that makes him the strongest of all. That makes him Its favorite.

-

It is grateful—John has gifted It with Sam's best bodyguard, the greatest hunter in the world.


	40. One short sleep past, we wake eternally

**Title**: One short sleep past, we wake eternally

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "The Holy Sonnets" number ten by John Donne.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "In My Time Of Dying"

**Pairings**: slight Dean/Death, maybe?

**Rating**; PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It doesn't usually create a form for humans to see, but it has heard stories of Dean Winchester. He, if he is the man the tales say he is, deserves an explanation. 

So it crafts Tessa—a sweet, brave young woman—someone Dean can be relaxed around.

She is impressed with Dean—he is all the stories spoke of, and more. He is kind and courageous, one of the best soldiers she's ever come across, in all her long years.

He will not come willingly. He has too much invested in his father and brother to leave them behind. So she will have to tell him one of the othertruths, tell him just how the things he hunts are born—it will be cruel, to explain how easily he could become one, but his time is up.

He listens to her. His mind races as he thinks too fast for speech. She will make it gentle for him, ease him away—for this man, there will be no pain except going ahead of his family, and she cannot help with that.

Her smile is gentle as he focuses on her. He has chosen—Dean Winchester need only speak the words.


	41. Mirage

**Title**: Mirage

**Disclaimer**: I didn't create the boys, Jessica, or their world. Eric Kripke and his merry band of blessed loonies have that pleasure. _World on Fire_ was written by Michael Brownstein.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot alone

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 870

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: originally posted under another ID; please don't accuse me of plagiarizing myself.

* * *

The book is where he left it when he ran out this morning, and that's what drives it home. 

He's gone. She had him and now she's lost him. He'll never come back.

She was never enough.

-

She's never had a problem with words, able to hold conversation with a wall. A chatterbox, Daddy said, that didn't know when or how to stop.

She ducked her head and flushed but didn't deny it.

_You're your momma's girl, alright,_ Grandpa told her, kissing her forehead.

-

Bumping into him was fate, she'd told him. Why else would they have been in the library at the same time?

_Finals_, he deadpanned, and she whacked his arm with a book.

Tall as she was, she'd learned as a high school freshman she couldn't be picky. Boys were intimidated by her height—five eight by fourteen, then five eleven by sixteen. Oh, yes, many guys were too scared to approach her.

So by college, she'd learned to appear smaller than she was. But still, she never **felt** small until she met Sam Winchester.

-

One wall of the library ran all the way to ceiling; the top shelf was a good foot out of her reach. Once she realized that—it was the last book, damnit, it'd been a shitty day, and she really just wanted to go **home**—she grumbled and muttered and cursed, then looked around for a stool.

An amused snort caught her attention and wrath. She turned, a scalding remark on the tip of her tongue, when she looked up. Perhaps it was cliché, but her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat.

_Which book's escaping you?_ he asked, gaze on her face.

She told him and he grabbed it and she **had** to ask, _How tall are you_?

He smiled and she was totally gone.

-

She hadn't been treated delicately since she was a little girl, not since she shot up a foot in year and kept growing till she was just shy of six feet.

Sam held her gently, like something precious. He actually talked to her and heard her, took her opinions to heart.

She never felt safer than when with him.

A year and a half. It seemed like forever and lasted only a blink. He was all she'd ever dreamed of, a knight in shining armor who was also a scholar, treated her like an equal, cared what she wanted and thought.

She told him anything and everything, answered every question he asked.

But Sam… he didn't talk about his family or his past. The scars told their own story and she wondered every time she saw them, but she gave up asking.

-

So when Sam introduces his brother in the middle of the night, she's a little off-guard.

She'd thought **Sam** was beautiful.

Something about Dean set her on edge, but at the same time… **_He's a threat_**, her granddaddy whispered in her mind, **_but not to you. _**

Sam'd always moved with a feline grace, no wasted motion, ready to duck or twist or anything, never taken by surprise. She'd figured it came from his childhood, like the scars.

His brother moved the same way, yet… **more**.

And Jessica was at a loss for words.

Sam made her feel physically small, no matter what he did. Dean made her feel small because of his **presence**, even though they were roughly the same height. Just the way he moved, the way he talked—

He and Sam were having a conversation with their eyes and body language and for the first time in a year, she feared losing him.

-

He said he'd be back and he kissed her cheek and nothing had ever sounded so final as when the door closed behind him.

The book he'd been reading, World on Fire, is where he'd left it before bed, on the coffee table, open to page 95. He'd told her it was shockingly depressing but also highly addictive. She'd laughed and shook her head.

She picks it up and glances at the words, tears pricking behind her eyes. _Somewhere sometime this whole mirage first solidified_ leaps at her; she throws the book against the wall.

Even if he comes back after finding his dad, he was never hers anyway.

-

She cleans their apartment top to bottom. She bakes cookies, even though she hates cooking of any kind. She plans to shower so she'll be beautiful if he comes home.

She turns the water on but she never gets under the spray.

And being dirty is not what's on her mind with her stomach slashed and skin on fire.

_-_

_It was destiny_, she told him. _Fated that we met_.

He kissed her and held her and she'd never felt so safe.

She wishes she could blame him. All she can do is watch. Her death is tearing him up and she wants to thread her fingers in his hair, to wrap his arms around her, to wake from this nightmare.

But Jessica can only remember _Somewhere sometime this whole mirage first solidified _and watch Dean do his best to take care of Sam.


	42. chains that bind

**Title**: chains that bind

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to "Hunted"; AU?

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 205

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"You're not gonna catch 'em, Vic," his brother drawled through the phone, a voice he hadn't heard in six years. "If I failed, you really think you'll succeed?"

"I told you not to use this line for anythin' but emergencies," Victor growled back.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm in prison. It'll be a few months, but I'll get back to chasin' them fuckers."

Victor closed his eyes. "Gordon," he sighed. "Don't contact me except for emergencies, alright? You make me tired."

"I'm not crazy, Victor," his younger brother said earnestly. "I know what I saw that night, what I've seen since then."

Victor glanced around furtively, but thankfully he was alone in the hall. "You're a murderer," he hissed. "A serial killer. And only the fact that you're my mama's son has kept me from takin' you in myself." Victor flipped his phone shut and slammed his fist into the wall.

If he'd been home that night, Rosalind would still be alive, Gordon would still be sane, and Daddy wouldn't have walked away. Victor knew it.

If only he'd been home…

Victor took a deep breath and strode back into the office. The Winchesters had been sighted again—he had work to do.


	43. from the world that was

**Title**: from the world that was

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for "All Hell Breaks Loose"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

A thousand years of planning, ruined in a few seconds. Samuel was the culmination, and he chose humanity over his destiny—chose the wildcard, Dean, over his true, soul-family.

Of course, such insubordination could not be allowed, and It took Dean away. If Samuel wanted his "brother" returned—unharmed—he would need to reconsider his answer to Its offer. And Samuel did, quickly. He stopped fighting fate and became the general of Hell's army. His reward was Dean, alive and unhurt, whole and healthy.

Dean, of course, could not understand his brother's actions. He hated what Samuel had become to save him, though he still loved his brother more than anything in existence.

It allowed them each other. Before long, Dean followed his baby brother to the battlefield and fought at his side.

It won the final war of Light and Dark, overrunning the world, then streaming out through the dimensions.

Samuel was the culmination and Dean existed to keep him alive.

Heaven locked the gate, keeping out everything as the Creator turned His back on the world that fell.

And the Winchesters, in the new order, reigned, Hell's favorite sons.


	44. Murmur

**Title**: Murmur  
**Fandom**: "Supernatural"  
**Disclaimer**: The Demon and the Winchester's are not mine. I wrote this purely because I can.  
**Warnings**: in the future, but no spoilers  
**Pairings**: none  
**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: rounding up to 360

* * *

_Danger_, the wind whispers and she hears. Upon a time, she would have ignored it, continued on her way, but now she **feels** that it is true. 

_Danger_, the wind whispers, and she sees. Two men, warriors, brothers, saviors, destroyers—lost and lonely and unable to find a way out of their life. 

_Danger, _the wind whispers and she smells the stench of burning flesh, of fire. 

_Danger_, the wind whispers and she tastes ashes mingled with regret in her mouth. 

_Danger_, the wind whispers and she feels… cold. Nothing. 

_Danger, _the wind howls and she knows they are coming. 

She is the last of the unclaimed children, the youngest to know the truth. All the others, her brothers and sisters of death and flame, have been destroyed by the two men the winds warn her of. 

She is the last of the unclaimed children and the first to fight back is coming for her, prepared to end her as he has all the rest. He was raised as an instrument of vengeance against their creator, their father of flame and death and blood, and he was raised well for such an end. The wind murmurs of the one with him, his brother of flesh and bone, his brother of spirit, and the wind tells her to be wary. 

She is the last of the unclaimed children, the only one not taken yet that could be. And he is the first, the oldest, most powerful—and beyond their father's claim. 

_Danger, _the wind shrieks and she feels the blade on her neck. It will be quick, painless; they are merciful. They do not take delight in killing. 

Her eldest brother, her only living brother, is not like her. Wreathed in flame, with weapons in each hand, he is an avenging angel, only content when she is dead. But he will take no pleasure from the act. 

She is the last of the unclaimed children and he is the first. Everything comes full circle in the end, she supposes, and their father is already gone. 

The wind sighs as the sun rises, and the warriors are on their way. 


	45. In The Blood

_**Title: In The Blood**_

_**Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun.**_

_**Warnings: AU, I suppose**_

_**Pairings: none**_

_**Rating: PG**_

_**Wordcount: 280**_

_**Point of view: third**_

_**Notes: I was listening to "Bad Moon Rising" on repeat and one line kept leaping at me. I sat down to write a fic for it and out came... this. It makes less sense than usual, sorry.**_

* * *

_One eye is taken for an eye. _

* * *

There is no way it can end happily for them. And they will never understand.

It is not _them_. _They_ are not the reason. This goes back far further, too far for a man to comprehend. It goes back to days before memory, back before any human knows.

It goes back to the First and Its creation, back to blood and fire and stardust. It is vengeance and rage, redemption and damnation—and they are at the center, as all their line has been.

And the father, the man Winchester—he thought it to be about him, but it was always about the blood. The blood of his sons and his wife and her mother—all the way back to the beginning, to the time no human knows of. To the time before.

No one of the blood has ended happily in longer than humanity has walked the world. And these boys—men—_hunters_—will be no different.

They did not commit the transgression. Nor did their mother, or hers, or any of the line since the creation.

And _that_ is what humans understand. Hate, rage, revenge—they feed off it, survive because of it, hold on far too long to their pain simply to cause others hurt. No man will ever understand what happened, but they can comprehend what has happened since.

It is human creed, after all. When someone hits you, you hit back. Harder, faster, and deeper.

There is no way it can end happily for them, because it has not ended happily for any before them.

Winchester was right in one regard: it is in the blood.


	46. it wouldn't change a thing if I let go

**Title**: it wouldn't change a thing if I let go

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Trip Around The Sun" by Jimmy Buffet and Martina McBride.

**Warnings**: timeline—somewhen in season 2

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It isn't just blood that binds them. Time, too, and gunpowder. Salt and leather, a road that never ends and memories that hover behind them, around them, in them. Fire. Bone, grit, vomit, and a deep, abiding ache. 

But not just blood. Even from the beginning, it wasn't just blood.

They were woven together intricately, with thread so fine as to be invisible. It linked them from across a continent, through time and mist. The thread is in their muscle and tissue, in their hearts and souls—and can never be unwoven.

The road they walk is hard, full of thorns and detours, full of pain and fear—but they do not walk alone. Never alone.

It watches them, traces their steps in sulfur and flame, and waits. They will come to It one day, unable to stay away. They will come together, aching and frightened, seeking answers. And It will give them answers to questions they have not even thought to ask. It will make them Its, in both body and soul—

The day of reckoning, of fruition—of fire and blood and death. So gorgeous that day will be, when all Its plans unfold, the strands finally entwined.


	47. something stolen

**Title**: something stolen

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU; pedophilia

**Pairings**: mentions of non-con, non-incestuous het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: AU of this "chains that bind," chp 43 of this anthology

* * *

Rosalind died in the summer. Mama and Daddy were at a party for church, Victor out with friends, and Gordon watching the baby, twelve-year-old Rosalind.

It was a beautiful night, clear and warm. Gordon never forgave himself for not realizing sooner that someone was in the house. By the time he got to her room, Rosalind was dead, eyes staring at the ceiling. But the bastard was still taking his pleasure.

Gordon grabbed his father's gun and shot the bastard three times; but he just jumped out the window and vanished, Gordon firing uselessly after him.

It was only when he called for help that Gordon noticed the tears pouring down his face.

-

The police had no leads. So Gordon took it upon himself to find Rosalind's killer. At all of eighteen, Gordon knew it to be the only way he'd find absolution.

And Victor went with him. "Someone's gotta look out for you," his older brother told him. "We can't lose you, too."

Gordon corrected him with, " Rosa wasn't lost, Vic. Someone stole her." He met Vic's eyes, trying to convey just what he meant. "We can't get her back. But we can make him pay."

Victor nodded, understanding—and agreeing.


	48. tell me a story

**Title**: tell me a story

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU before pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 425

**Point of view**: third

* * *

_ When my brother Daniel was very young, he was an only child. He told me once that it was awesome being the little prince of the family, but I know he was actually lonely. He loved being a big brother, thought it gave him a point of being, a purpose._

_ I find that sad, now, as I look back. That he needed me to give his life meaning. He always had to have someone to look out for. _

_ He would have made a wonderful father. _

-

_ My mother died when I was six months old, and Daniel four, murdered in my nursery. Dad went crazy, determined to track her killer down. He took Daniel and me with him, ruining us for most anything else. _

_ He'd been a Marine, so he trained us to fight, to use guns and knives, to kill. Daniel lived to please him, but I wanted more. _

_ I don't think Daniel ever really understood that, my hope for normality. But he still helped me, covering for me when I was at soccer or play practice. He still let me go when I announced that Harvard accepted me. _

_ He didn't choose a side in my last fight with Dad. He listened to the yelling, no expression on his face, but he followed me out the door and told me to get in his car. _

_ Daniel drove me to Harvard and gave me a thousand dollars. I never saw him again. _

_ - _

_ Until I was eighteen, every memory somehow included Daniel. He was always there, ready to help me tackle anything. His entire existence revolved around me. I didn't realize that wasn't normal or healthy till my teens. _

_ One of the earliest things I remember, Daniel and I made a fort in the living room. I probably wasn't even two, so Daniel couldn't have been more than six. I don't know where Dad was. _

_ Daniel told me that I had to stay in the fort, so the fire-monster couldn't get me. "Benny," he said, "we're safe in here. Never, ever leave." _

_ My brother would never leave the family, would never leave me or Dad, given the choice. _

_ But he wasn't given a choice. _

-

Jessica couldn't go on. Still over two hundred pages to read of Sam's book, and she was bawling her eyes out, because she knew how the story went.

She gently closed the manuscript and placed it on the table. She'd continue tomorrow. For now, though, she'd go curl up with Sam and asks for tales about two brothers, always and forever together.


	49. card shark

**Title**: card shark

**Disclaimer**: "Donavan" and his tall shadow aren't mine. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 400

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: I asked my cousin for a word. He said "shark." He wanted a story about a shark eating some people. This is not that story.

* * *

Kid thinks he's slick like meltin' butter, but Jeffrey Harding's been around the block half a dozen times and these pups are all the same. He's charmin', no doubt'a that, but charm ain't worth much nowadays, and it shore don't hide that giant shadow in the corner, tryin' to sink outta sight.

Kid says his name's Donavan with a rogue's grin, the kind that would'a melted Bethany in half'a heartbeat. But Jeff's nearly a quarter century too old and has a few extra parts that keep him from bein' completely taken in. Even so, it's a near thing.

Men just shouldn't be as pretty as this Donavan.

The kid laughs when Jeff deals the cards, tells some story ain't got a hope of bein' true, involvin' a band of gypsies and the ghost of grizzly. He's got a honey-smooth voice and descriptive hands, drawin' even Jeff in, though he knew better long before Donavan was born. He listens with a smile, keepin' close watch on the pup's quicksilver fingers: kid's a pro. So good, in fact, that Jeff doesn't call him on it.

The shadow rises when Mick gets loud, demandin' Donavan give up his hand. Donavan's hazel eyes flash the shadow a quick look, before he soothes Mick's ruffled feathers with a few calm words, in a tone that Jeff remembers from his horse wrangler days. It works and Mick subsides. The shadow sinks back down; Jeff's relieved. Ain't a barfight he's been in that he's lost, but against these two, pretty Donavan and his giant shadow? Jeff wouldn't ever take that bet.

Donavan wins, o'course. Jeff ain't a bit surprised. Half the moves were so good Jeff didn't even see 'em, and he was lookin' real careful. Mick's mad, but he's no fool, despite his temper. Donavan is far more dangerous than he appears, and he seems mighty dangerous, despite his pretty face. Factor in that shadow? Well, Jeff would have to take Mick's side, so he shore is glad Mick doesn't press his luck.

The kid thanks them both for the game, tuckin' his winnin's away. Jeff recognizes the shape of a gun beneath Donavan's jacket, but he keeps quiet, just congratulatin' the kid again. Donavan nods and meets up with his shadow by the bar and grabs a beer to go. Jeff watches them walk out the door, the tall shadow half a step behind, laughin'.


	50. garnet run

**Title**: garnet run

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season two

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

They caught Sam first, at a Walgreens picking up bandages. He said nothing, and a search of his pockets offered no clues to whatever hotel they were staying at. He kept his face expressionless all the way to the station. 

It'd been a year since the Winchester's last run-in with the law, their jailbreak in Arkansas. Victor Hendrickson took the red eye from Washington.

"No one talks to him before me, understood?" he commanded. So no one did.

-

"Where's your brother, Sam?" Victor asked, slouched across from Dean Winchester's baby brother. It was the first contact he'd had with one of the only two people Dean cared about.

Sam didn't answer.

"We know the two of you are never far from each other." Victor kept his tone soft. "So, if we have to, we'll tear this town apart."

Sam met his eyes and still said nothing.

-

"Put out the word," Victor ordered. "Dangerous fugitive Sam Winchester apprehended. Dean'll come for him."

But Dean never did.


	51. misconceptions

**Title**: misconceptions

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: slight AU for "Folsom Prison Blues"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point of view**: third

* * *

When he finally gets in the same room as Dean Winchester, the man isn't what he expects.

Oh, he's a cocky sum'bitch, alright, no doubt of that. But Victor had thought he'd be a racist asshole—based on all the information of his childhood, he should be a sexist, white supremacist terrorist.

And Winchester blows right through all of Victor's preconceived notions with that damned smirk.

-

"So, your daddy," Victor says. "Let's talk about him."

Winchester raises his head. "How about we don't."

Victor doesn't smirk, but it's a close thing. "He spent a lot of time off the grid—we don't know what he was doin'. We can guess, though." Victor watches Winchester closely. "Ex-marine, right? Real dangerous guy. Trained you and your brother to follow him, to take up his beliefs."

Winchester says, "You're borin' me, Vic."

"But Sam—he left. He got out, and you couldn't let him go." Something flickers in Winchester's eyes and Victor continues, "Did you kill his girlfriend, like that poor woman in St. Louis? He's yours, isn't he? Been yours since the two'a you were boys."

Winchester shakes his head. "You have all these beliefs about me, agent, and ain't a one of 'em true."

The lady lawyer—something Daniels—strides in and kicks Victor out, but he knows he rattled Winchester. He wants to go talk with baby brother Sam, but Daniels forbids it.

-

It isn't until later that night when Victor realizes Winchester didn't blink at his race. Not a single comment about it.

But he has his conclusions about Winchester, and he hushes the little voice that tells him he's wrong.


	52. figure eight, sideways

**Title**: figure eight, sideways

**Disclaimer**: narrator's mine. that's it.

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

They never had much, those Winchester boys, but I always knew they'd be fine. Seemed like they'd go to each fight ready for anythin', and they always came out the other side—scratched up and bloody and damn near bruised all over, but alive.

Wasn't nothin' on God's green Earth that could keep those boys—_men_—down for long. They'd take licks that would kill other hunters and just _smile_. And what a smile it was! Any woman alive would melt. Most men, too.

Been awhile since I heard from any of t'em, but—they're fine. Of course, they're fine.


	53. dream's end

**Title**: dream's end

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot and, obliquely, the first episode of season three

**Pairings**: Mary/John

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 500

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It chose Mary six month after her birth. It left her in her parents' care, instead of burning her mother. She was different from the others that way.

It looked in on her from time to time, appearing in different guises. Once, when she was sixteen, It saved her from a male attacker, striking the man from existence. Mary saw It, in Its body of shadow and flame, and she thanked It.

No human had ever gazed upon It without fear before, and It was glad It had let her family keep her, to give her such courage, to kindle her spark of potential.

-

It appeared again the day she met John, a bright twenty-year-old. She was lovely in a yellow sundress. It wore an old grandmother, gray-haired in purple, and chatted with her about the future.

It knew her future. As Its favorite, her future was grand indeed.

She gave It a beautiful smile as she kept on her way, to church and the store. It watched her go, the child who looked and saw and felt no fear, and It smiled.

-

The night her firstborn, Dean, was six months old, It met her in his nursery.

"I know you," Its special girl said. "You can't have him."

It stared down at the sleeping babe, the boy with Mary's eyes. _He's not the one I want,_ It told her. _You'll have another son, one who burns as you do_.

"I owe you my life," she murmured. "You saved me. But I won't pay with my child."

It turned to her and smiled. _I allowed you to keep your family. I made sure you kept your life._

Mary touched Dean's soft, peaceful face. "I'll make a deal," she said. "Take me instead of my son."

It laughed and answered, _Agreed_.

Yes, Its special girl had fire, but she did not yet understand.

-

And they met again in Sam's nursery. She was angry, defiant—had thought It would come for her, not her boy.

_He is lovely, my dear_, It said. _Quite a catch. But not you_.

And It had waited almost thirty years for this girl, so finally It rewarded Itself for such patience.

Of all Its children, she was the first to have children of her own. And before they turned thirty, It would take them, too.

A complete set, to command Its army—a priestess, a general, and Its second, the king, her lovely boy Samuel.

It showed her the future in her final heartbeat as a woman. _I chose you for this task, to bear my heirs,_ It told her. _Be proud, Mary_.

_I will not help you_, she answered, glaring, defiant even at her death.

_Yes_, It replied. _You will._

-

Its special girl and her boys, her sons with her fire, one with her eyes and both with her spirit—ah, It bathed in their power and waited.

They would come. And It would embrace them. It need only be patient, for It had already won.


	54. of fatherhood

**Title**: of fatherhood 

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. 

**Warnings**: SPOILERS for "The Kids Are Alright" 

**Pairings**: none 

**Rating**: PG 

**Wordcount**: 500 

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_It isn't easy to get on with his life, but Ben does. He remembers that night in the cage, the night Dean saves him, fights off the monster in human form, the night he wishes that his father—whoever Dad was—could've been Dean instead._

_Mom's always been tactile, but after that night she's hugging and kissing all the time, proving he's him and not something else, something other. Everything is changed that night._

_Everything. _

_But still, life goes on. Mom takes greater care with playdates, pays more attention to the news—when Dean's face and the words "wanted dead or alive" scroll across the screen, she just sighs and whispers, "Damnit, you fool."_

_"Mom?" Ben asks, just turned nine. "What're they after him for?"_

_She shakes her head, wiping at her eyes._

- 

_It isn't till he's twelve, and mostly forgotten that night, when he asks, out of the blue at supper, "Mom, is Dean my dad?"_

_She meets his eyes and her gaze slides away. "No, sweetie," she lies. "He's not."_

-  
_ He's fifteen when he sees Dean again, on the news in handcuffs, being led into court for over a dozen murders in a handful of states.  
__ Ben spends the next three weeks researching every aspect of the trial, and cheers when Dean escapes from the media circus under the nose of the FBI._

- 

_ He never does figure out why Mom lied. She dies when he's twenty and he turns around at the wake to see Dean at the back of the room, his brother beside him._

_ Dean slowly walks up to him, the brother—Sam, Ben thinks his name is—hanging back._

_ "Hey, kiddo," Dean says softly. "How you doin'?"_

_ "I've had better years," he answers, something burning behind his eyes, remembering how safe he felt when this man showed up in that dark basement and fought the monster._

_ Ben hasn't cried yet. He's the same height as Dean, and he hasn't cried yet, but when Dean reaches out to touch his shoulder, Ben just folds up, his legs collapsing beneath him. Dean catches him, lowering them to the ground._

_ "I got ya, Ben," Dean whispers._

_ He's older now, of course, but Ben feels eight again, held safe by the hero, and Mom's dead and he has no idea what to do, but Dean's here, Dean's **here**, and he'll know._

_ "Are you sure," he mutters into Dean's chest, curled up as much as he can be, "that you're not my dad?"_

_ Dean chuckles brokenly, body still sure and strong, and answers, "Your mama told me I wasn't."_

_ Ben nods, letting Dean hold his weight. "I think she lied."_

_ "Yeah." Dean's hand rubs circles onto his back. "I think so, too." _

- 

_ Dean sits at the kitchen table, Ben across from him and Sam on his right, and tells Ben everything._

_ It was a normal car accident that killed Mom, but there's things out there, things like that monster from the basement, and someone needs to take care of them._


	55. darkness rising

**Title**: darkness rising

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot

**Pairings**: John/Mary, Sam/Jessica

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Bobby knows far more than he's ever let on. He knows exactly what Sam is, what's in John's blood, why Mary had to die, why Jessica couldn't live once Sam realized how deeply he loved her.

He sees in Dean something John and Sam never had, but Mary did. He bets Jessica did, too.

John is a creature of the darkness, though he doesn't know it. And John's blood overwhelmed Mary in their younger boy. But Dean—he has sunshine in his smile, in his eyes.

Mary and Jessica would have kept John and Sam in the light, and only John's blood in Dean has let him live so long. The darkness never lets its children go. Its claim is forever.

Bobby knows, has always known. And he'll help John's boys, because Dean has a light like Bobby's never seen before. Maybe, if he shines bright enough, he'll save Sam.

Maybe, Bobby helping these two will make up for all those he left to die.


	56. til infinity burns

**Title**: 'til infinity burns

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: "All Hell Breaks Loose" never happened

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 290

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Sam, m'boy, you know you're missin' somethin', right? Some integral part of your father and brother that you don't have. You're a mighty fine actor, Sammy. Flawless. But I know. And so do you.

Your daddy and big brother _care_, Sam. They love people, even with all their faults. It's why they hunt what they call the _darkness_. But you… oh, you don't. You only have room in your heart for one person, son, and that's your brother.

And you pretend so well you fooled yourself. You wanted to be normal, to _feel_, so you fled to California and chose a girl and made her believe you loved her.

Tell me, Sammy—did you ever notice how similar to your brother pretty little Jess was? Same hair, same eyes, nearly the same height, same sense of humor, same music… she was _home_ to you, Sam.

Of course she had to die. Just like your brother will die if you continue to defy me.

Don't fret, son of mine. Do as I say and your brother remains untouched. Even protected. Why do you think he's survived so long?

Don't give me that look. What happens next is up to you. I can't return what's missing from you, that tiny piece of humanity that burned with dear Mommy. I can't extract from you what I gave that night, the sacrificial blood I dropped on your tongue.

Nor would I if I could. You're my favorite, the best and the darkest, the only one that might be standing at the end.

So, Sammy… what's it gonna be? Refuse my offer and he dies. Take my offer… and he's yours forever, to have and to hold, 'til infinity burns.

Well, m'boy? What's it gonna be?


	57. revelation

**Title**: revelation

**Disclaimer**: the woman isn't my character, or her attempted rapist, or her savior. Her brother is, though.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Houses of the Holy"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: to the prompt of _POV of that girl Dean saved in "Houses of the Holy," bonus points of she sees his face in the news.

* * *

_

Maggie's little brother Dan is obsessed with the FBI's most wanted list, keeping up to date, checking the website every week. He's been that way since he was fifteen, and she's not entirely sure where she went wrong. She's tried telling him he's putting a black mark on his soul, but he doesn't care.

Two nights after Rich slapped her and tried taking more than she was willing to give him, two nights after that angel-faced hero saved her, Dan stops by her apartment, bringing supper and childhood pictures. They visit for awhile—her leaving out, again, what nearly happened two nights ago—and then she has to go to the bathroom.

"Hey, can I use the computer?" he calls when she's down the hall.

"Sure!" she hollers back.

Dan leaves the site up when he goes, and she gives it a glance before she closes it—and then stops, frozen in shock.

There he is, her angel-faced hero, wanted for murder and rape and theft and assault and, of all things, grave-desecration.

There he is, her angel-faced hero, not the man she'd thought at all.

There he is, her angel-faced hero, and she doesn't know what to think anymore.


	58. fly like an eagle

**Title**: fly like an eagle

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: Hendrickson's family is mine. The rest aren't. Just for fun. Title from "Night Flyer"

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: um… non-incestuous slash. But mostly gen.

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1250

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: to the prompt _Hendricksen's kid watching his father getting more and more obsessed with the Winchesters every day. Bonus point if said kid gets to meet the Winchesters. _

* * *

Billy was five the first time he heard _Winchester_ uttered like a curse.

He asked Madeline who Winchester was and she said, "Someone Daddy's after."

And that was that. Daddy was after Winchester, and Daddy always got the bad guy, no matter how tough or smart the bad guy was.

Always.

-

Except Billy kept hearing the name Winchester over the years. Through elementary, though junior high, through high school—never that frequently, but always constant.

-

He was fifteen the day he and Dad went jogging together at dusk and the shadow unraveled from a fence, chased after them, grabbed Dad and shattered him on the sidewalk.

Billy screamed and the shadow hovered by him, but faded away.

-

No one believed him, not even Madeline. They all thought Billy was traumatized by men attacking his father and beating him to death right in front of his eyes.

But Billy knew what he saw. He _knew_. And he couldn't wait for the shadow to come back for him, possibly get Mama or Madeline or Jack.

-

Billy was newly sixteen the day he left, one of Dad's guns in the holster beneath his jacket. He didn't know what good a gun could do against a shadow, but it was better than nothing.

He left three notes, one each for the remainder of his family. He knew they'd try to find him, but he learned a lot from Dad. So he vanished.

-

He decided to go by Will now, since Billy was Dad's son. Dad was dead—so was Billy.

-

He wandered. It was harder than he'd expected, especially after the somewhat affluent life he'd lived before. But he survived. He picked pockets and he drifted, and he ate so little he wondered if he'd float away. But he remembered the stories of what happens to kids—even if he wasn't really a kid anymore—on the road. He kept to himself, kept a wary eye on everyone else.

He was barely seventeen the first time he accepted a ride from a stranger, and the driver wasn't much older than him, and no bigger. So he figured it was as safe as he'd get.

-

Will didn't know much about cars, but he could tell it used to be a nice one. And was in good condition, as cars older than dirt went.

"'67 Chevy Impala," the driver told him, hazel eyes gleaming and white teeth flashing in a charming grin. "My uncle gave her to me, said Dad would'a wanted me to have her."

The easy reference to a father cut Will, but he kept his emotions to himself. This guy didn't know, couldn't—so it wasn't fair to lash out.

"I'm Ben," he said, turning the windshield wipers up a notch. The pounding rain was the only reason Will'd accepted the ride. "Ben Braedon."

"Will Hendrickson," he replied.

-

Turned out, Ben had no idea how to shut up. He talked and talked and talked, and even though Will had pegged him as older, Ben reminded him sharply of Jack.

Which hurt. Will hadn't seen his baby brother since he'd gone by Billy.

It was hard to not get caught up in Ben's excitement with the world, and before long—a couple hours after he accepted the ride—Will told him why he'd left home.

Ben listened as well he talked, intently, and he didn't react like Will had come to expect.

"A shadow," he repeated softly, and Will waited for the derision, for the wary look. A moment passed and then Ben said, "I think I should take you to my uncle."

He took his eyes off the road for just a second, shearing Ben with an expression he hadn't seen since Dad. "Trust me, Will. My uncle can help. Let me take you to him?"

His world's knowledge said _no, don't trust a stranger_. But his gut said _yes_. He needed to know what killed his father, why, and how to destroy it.

"Okay," he replied, and Ben's smile was sunshine.

-

Ben's uncle was named Sam. Will didn't make any jokes. He hadn't really been in a funny mood since that jog at dusk.

"Sam Winchester," Ben said. "Will Hendrickson."

_Winchester_ niggled something in Will's mind, and the guy's eyes widened for a moment before his face cleared.

"How can I help?" he asked, sinking down carefully into a chair. Ben tossed himself back onto the couch and Will perched next to him.

He wasn't sure what this guy could do, but anything was better than what he'd found so far.

So he told Sam Winchester everything.

-

Sam promised to call in some favors, find out what he could. Will wouldn't hold his breath.

-

When Ben invited him back on the road for a hunting trip, Will said yes. He used Sam's phone to call home, let them know he was still alive. It was long overdue.

Mama begged him to come home and Jack swore at him. Madeline just breathed down the line and then softly told him to be careful. "I am," he replied. "Take care of them, okay?"

"Goodbye, Billy," Madeline said.

If Will's eyes watered a little, Ben didn't say a thing.

-

Ben taught him the ropes and they swung by Sam's every couple of months. Will remembered where he'd heard the name _Sam Winchester_ before, but the man he knew wasn't the one Dad used to curse about. And if Sam was Ben's uncle… but it didn't matter.

"What happened to your father?" Will asked one night, listening to Ben breathe in the other bed.

"Something was faster than him," Ben answered quietly after a minute.

"I'm sorry," Will said, the gaping wound Dad left in him aching.

A long, painful moment passed before Ben whispered, "I only met him three times, all in the same couple'a days."

Will had no reply to that.

-

Will was twenty when Sam finally called him and said, "I've got it."

Armed with knowledge and hate, Will went home, Ben at his side.

-

The shadow waited on the sidewalk where it killed his father. Ben read the incantation and Will lit the candle

The shadow howled and shrieked, wind whipping around them; Ben flew into a tree and slid to the ground, the book flopping uselessly to the side.

"Ben!" Will rushed to him, candle falling to the concrete.

But Ben had finished the chant before being thrown, and the shadow dissipated with a groan.

"Ben," Will said, relief surging through him when he felt Ben's heartbeat beneath his hand. "Shit, man."

Will's phone rang and he only answered when he saw it was Sam. "He's fine, dude," Will said swiftly. "We're comin' home."

"Your father would be proud," Sam told him. "Know that, Will. He was a good man, and he'd be proud of you."

It was the closest Sam ever came to telling him, and Will knew that he knew.

"Thanks," Will responded.

Ben's eyelids fluttered and he hung up on Sam. "Don't do that again, okay?" Will said as he stirred. "Don't."

Ben grinned at him. "Worried or somethin'?"

Will forced a chuckle. "Or somethin'." He stood and held out a hand, pulled Ben up. "Let's go home, alright?"

Raising a hand to the back of his head, Ben watched as Will picked up the book. "Home?" he asked. "You mean…"

Will nodded. "If you want."

Ben's smile was slow, and the most beautiful thing Will had ever seen. "Long as you want," he said.

That'd be forever.


	59. the one who got away

**Title**: the one who got away

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "The Kids Are Alright"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It came for Lisa when her son was sixth months old, stared down at the baby as he slept in his crib, waited for her to check in, like the mothers always did.

The babe was healthy, full of fire and life, with that same spark all Winchesters had.

_You would make a good hunter,_ it thought, staring down at the boy. _Like your father and grandfather. _

It shifted, eyes golden-yellow, and considered. The father didn't know, or he would have been here, somehow contacted Lisa. Even just a phone-call, every now and again.

It came for Lisa, and left without taking her. There was no point, if Dean wouldn't feel pain.

After all, it still had time.

Plenty of time.


	60. colliding stars

**Title**: colliding stars

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU; implied non-con; spoilers for "Bad Day at Black Rock"

**Pairings**: onesided Gordon Walker/Dean Winchester, onesided Bela Talbot/Dean Winchester

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 535

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: written before "Fresh Blood" aired

* * *

_So… I hear you're a thief. You ever stole a person?_

-

It was partnership of mutual benefit: he hunted down what he considered most dangerous to his kind and she had justice for actions against her.

-

_I'm not just a thief, sweetheart—I'm a great thief. Who do you need stolen?_

-

It was a good plan, formulated by an expert thief and an even better hunter. Every possibility was thought of, everything that could go wrong planned for.

-

_Dean Winchester._

-

She struck at dawn on a Saturday, while the Winchesters were separated, a town apart. Dean was good, but no match for a dart filled with sedative. The room was left empty of all his belongings, everything packed and bagged.

There was also a note for Sam.

-

_Him, I'll steal for free. _

-

She watched from a few feet away as Sam tore the town apart looking for his brother. What could he assume but that Dean had left, finally taken off, like Sam—despite almost bone-deep knowledge that Dean would never, could never, do that—had always feared he'd would?

She watched for three days, just to be sure, and then returned to her loft, where her newest acquisition waited.

-

_Good. _

-

Her partner was sitting beside the bed, beer in hand. "You'll take care of him?" Gordon asked. "He's a good man, just misguided."

She smiled at him. "He's safe with me, I assure you. I'll just have a bit of fun till you come back."

Gordon looked back at Dean. "It'll hurt him, when he figures out what's happened. Try to take his mind off things."

She nodded.

-

_You have a plan, I assume._

-

Dean woke once, foggy and disoriented, calling for Sam. She rubbed her hand along his forehead, caressed his face.

He was a beautiful man. She could grow used to seeing him spread out on her bed. Even the rage she felt towards him was tempered by his closeness, the warmth of his skin against hers.

"A body could grow addicted to you," she whispered, trailing her lips down his neck. "I think I'll have to find a way to keep you."

-

_Of course. Wouldn't have come to you if I didn't._

-

Gordon came back three days later; Dean was still drugged, more asleep than anything, unable to wake.

"You dealt with your end, I'm sure," she said, watching him check Dean over.

"Sammy Winchester is salted and burned," Gordon answered, reaching out to touch Dean's face. "World's safe, now."

She nodded. "Good."

-

_Well? Tell me._

-

The bullet made a soft 'snip' sound as it tore into Gordon's back and out his chest, lodging in the wall.

It'd be hard to convince all Gordon's little groupies he died in a car wreck, but not impossible. And then Dean Winchester would be hers.

It might take him a little while to come around, but she was a great thief. Even if she couldn't steal his heart, she had enough drugs too keep him just groggy enough.

Plus, when things are easy? There just isn't much fun.

-

_You get Dean outta the way, Sam's easy. No warnin', little brother off guard—_

_Details, Walker. I don't work on faith._

_Well, that's alright. I do. _


	61. if we go too far

**Title**: if we go too far

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Heavens on Their Minds"

**Warnings**: future!fic. Disturbing.

**Pairings**: um… yeah. Het. Somewhat non-con.

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 500

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"They still tell stories about you."

He doesn't look up, has nothing to say. She chuckles, trailing her fingers along the bars of bone, caressing a rib.

"They call you _Traitor_," she murmurs, canting her head, studying him. "Just as they call him _Deliverer_."

He shudders, but makes no sound.

She counts that as a victory, and leaves with glee.

-

She returns, of course, because Hell is boring and he is beautiful.

"Did you think," she asks, slipping through the bars and touching his face, "that it could ever come to this? Him?"

He jerks away, eyes on the blood-soaked flesh that makes the ground in Hell.

"C'mon," she says, kneeling in front of him, holding his head so that he can't look away. "It's me."

His eyes are full of hate, but he stays silent.

She laughs, a ringing sound; he flinches.

"Traitor," she breathes, leaning in to caress his lips with her tongue. "Beautiful traitor."

She kisses her way across his cheek, down his neck, relishing the hatred in his taut form.

"You gave us the deliverer, sweetheart," she whispers, looking up into his endless gaze. "We thank you for that."

He says nothing. He never does.

-

She never spends more than a few days topside before returning to his prison, always telling him what his brother is doing.

"He's remaking the world, darling," she gleefully tells him one night, rubbing circles on his bare, scarred back. "It's a glorious place, of ash and fire. He's waiting for you, you know. Wants you at his side."

Silence. He trembles.

"I remember you had a smart mouth," she says, almost sadly. "I miss it. Are you really _that_ broken?"

The quiet is an unmistakable answer.

-

Time has no meaning in Hell. Days, weeks, months… human inventions. Demons and devils only notice the Earth's revolution, the moon, and the sun.

She visits when she can. He never ages; the deliverer wants him as he was.

The day he finally speaks, no human has ruled in three lifetimes. No human nation still stands.

The deliverer has conquered the world and his regime is absolute.

She's kissing the traitor's neck, biting down to taste his exquisite blood, when his voice stops her cold.

"Take me to my brother, bitch."

-

She does, because he is kin of the deliverer and his will is law.

King of the world and still not happy, because something—_everything_—was missing.

She wonders if Heaven still stands. If their parents know. What they thought, watching the world burn.

The deliverer's castle is made of ivory and marble, pearl and diamond. There are no guards because he needs none; his is the power of a god.

She leads the traitor to him. He shines brighter than the sun no one has seen in three hundred years.

She counts, the only one that still does.

Her lord knows they're coming.

-

"Dean," the deliverer says.

"Sammy," the traitor replies.

She watches, and it's like no time has passed at all.


	62. the blackest dirge

**Title**: the blackest dirge

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 350

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It is a cold day, and so innocently bright. He hasn't been topside since he was twelve. He shivers, pulling his jacket close.

"Come," the Master says over his shoulder. "I didn't bring you here to linger—only to prove that it's done."

"Yes, sir," he replies quietly, and follows.

-

The sunlight is faint, but there. He is unused to such gentle warmth and gazes up in wonder. The Master doesn't mind; he also looks, face serene. He is shocked at such a soft expression on the Master's face, but he says nothing.

-

"Tell me," the Master commands as they walk, shoulder to shoulder. Few are as tall as the Master; down below, such size has given him much prestige. "What are you expecting?"

He thinks; the Master will not want a quick answer. He will want something of substance.

"A memorial," he finally answers as they turn the corner. The large iron gates rise above them, deep black in the fading sunlight. "Something worthy of—" He does not say the name. Uttering the name is forbidden of all Master's folk.

The Master pauses and turns to face him. "You may speak his name," the Master tells him, reaching out to touch his face. The Master's hand moves down his cheek to curl around his neck. "You and I alone can."

"Thank you, sir," he replies.

The Master turns and leads the way, his long coat billowing in the chilly breeze.

-

They set foot in the black marble tomb, one word inscribed in gold on the side. Above the ground is a coffin, large and glossy brown.

"He was a good man," the Master says. "The best ever born." He smiles, caressing the mahogany wood.

"I know," he answers, daring to reach out and trail his fingers along the coffin.

"I miss him," the Master murmurs. "I miss him so much it burns."

-

As he follows the Master from the mausoleum, he looks back to read the word: _Dean. _

"Come, Ben," the Master says. Before he can respond, the Master adds, "And I've told you—call me Uncle Sam."


	63. They say

**Title**: They say  
**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.  
**Warnings**: future!fic; fairly dark  
**Pairings**: none  
**Rating**: R  
**Wordcount**: 400  
**Point** **of** **view**: third  
**Notes**: to the prompt _They build Sam's throne in Golgotha, among the bones_.

* * *

They call it the Palace of Skulls. They say the darkest being ever born sits on a throne of bones from those who challenged him. They say that after the first battle, none ever dared to challenge him again.

He has a court, they say, scared whispers in the endless night. A court of demons and monsters, legends made real simply from his power. He has an army always at the ready, prepared to slip between worlds and conquer new lands.

He killed God, they say, those who survived. He tore down the gates of Heaven and marched alone against Heaven's chorus. And he won. He slaughtered the angels and beat God to the golden street, taking reign over Heaven and Earth, over every place there ever was.  
_Bow before me_, he demanded of the Creator.

And God murmured gently, _No_.

So he killed God with a laugh.

They say.

He mastered Lucifer after, offering the devil the same choice. Lucifer left Heaven because he hated bowing, but he knelt before God's killer with barely a shudder.

None of them, the survivors, knew where he came from, what he wants. The world is a barren wasteland, and he lives off fear. His court feed on humans, mangled corpses and screaming children, and all he ever does is laugh.

His Palace of Skulls was raised over Golgotha, where God's favorite died, thousands of years before. They say Lucifer cackled, but no one really knows.

They say there is hope, in tiny, fleeting whispers, mother to son to granddaughter. They say there is one soul—just one—who can destroy God's killer. No one knows his name or how he could do it, who he could be to have such power.

But he will come again, they say. He was alive once—he knew the darkest being ever born before he was dark.

They were lovers, some say. Others say friends. But he died, somehow—killed by accident or design, no one is sure. But his death led to what the world became.

They say.

But he'll come again. Reborn by chance or will. Maybe resurrected by God's killer.

But he'll come back. And he'll kill the monster who sits on the throne of bones in the Palace of Skulls.

_No_, a few mutter. _He will join the dark. And there will never again be hope._

They say. But no one knows.


	64. Jacob Doddard woke one night

**Title: **Jacob Doddard woke one night, from a strange and eerie dream

**Disclaimer**: the Winchesters aren't mine; just for fun. Title from "Jacob's Dream" performed by Allison Krauss.

**Warnings**: spoilers for pilot; complete and total AU

**Pairings**: John/Mary, John/OFC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1000

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She first sees him on a cool spring day, sun shining gently down and warming the dirt. He's just a boy, barely out of toddling around, following his mama and smiling. 

He has Mary's eyes. She knows that'll make everything harder.

-

She misses the feel of flesh, of the wind on her skin, the rushing of blood through her thin, fragile veins. She misses brushing her long, silky hair, the color of moonlight. She misses the taste of chocolate and milk, the smell of bread baking.

Most of all, though, she misses being able to touch John.

-

She can't always be sure, but she thinks, maybe, Mary was the one who killed her. Or she killed Mary.

She still dreams, even without a body. She peers into a darkened mirror and sees herself looking back, blonde hair and hazel eyes, plump lips and barely-bronzed skin. John stands at her back, hand sure and strong on her shoulder, and she holds a little boy in her arms, a gorgeous child with her eyes.

She doesn't even know his name.

-

She finds him again on a bitter winter night, with snow swirling around him, covering him. He's shivering, breath slowing, and she feels just how close he is to the abyss.

John's screaming for him, and she sees the blood sluggishly trickling out of his right shoulder, a slim cut all the way down his side. Blood mats his hair, coating his skin. He won't survive for long unless she does something—but there is nothing she can do. She has no warmth, no body, no voice.

But she does have spirit, and she can sense a wolf pack close, on their way back to the den. They are cold, though nowhere near as cold as the boy, so she summons them; they hurry to her call, answering her with glee.

She slips away as they settle around him, the two alphas on either side and the rest of the pack close. The female licks at the head wound then his shoulder, while one of the males laps at the cut down his torso.

He will be safe until John finds him and the pack melts back into the forest. Her boy—the boy with Mary's eyes—will live.

-

She cannot measure time, but the boy is grown when she sees him next, tall and strong. He is not quite John's size, and she can tell Mary's other boy will be even bigger than his father, but he has a presence she hasn't felt in years.

Not since Mary.

He is beautiful, like his mother before him, in both body and spirit. She is proud of her boy, the man with Mary's eyes. So proud—he will do well with all his gifts, will succeed where all others failed.

-

She first speaks to the boy not long after his brother leaves. The trees are bare, naked; she feels a storm on the horizon, a storm of snow and hail.

He's wandering without purpose, not seeing the world before him; he doesn't sense the storm coming. He will die, if she does not do something.

Mary's boy cannot be allowed to die, so she calls to him with the only voice left her, that same voice the wolves heard and followed to save his life.

_Dean, _she whispers to his heart. _Dean, listen to me. You will get him back. He will be yours again. You must be patient, give him time._

The boy looks around, eyes wide; "Who's there?" he asks, voice hoarse.

She winces to hear him sound so lost. Mary's shining son should never sound broken. _I knew your mother, _she says. _You are much like her._

"Yeah, sure," he says, shattered laughter in his voice. "I'm hearin' voices, now. Great." He's barely holding in his tears.

He doesn't have time to break down now; the storm is coming, and it does not have the mind for mercy.

_Dean, _she repeats. _You have to get inside._

But it's useless; he's hopelessly turned around in the wood, and clouds have long since covered the sun.

She should have spoken sooner.

She has no body with which to share heat, no shelter to offer. Mary's boy will die in this frozen forest.

No. She lost Mary to fire and ash. But this boy, Mary's firstborn, John's firstborn, Sam's big brother—she _can_ save him.

She is not a creature of light and warmth, like Mary. She is not a darling daughter of the sun. She is a child of cold places, a child of the moon. Winter is her time. And this boy, he will not die tonight.

_Dean, _she says again, louder. _You will understand, in the future._

And she takes him, as she once took Mary, for that one glistening night beneath the stars, when John was hers.

-

She watches two days later when John finds him, near-death and shuddering. She watches as he shivers in a hospital bed for a week, slowly gaining back his warmth. She watches as John doesn't let him out of sight, as John clutches his arm, as John trembles with the knowledge of how close he came.

Dean is not a creature of the moon.

Dean is like Mary.

-

She speaks to him once more, on the night he drives away from Stanford and Sam. Everything is happening like Mary said it would.

_I forgive you, Sister, _Mary had murmured, dancing with her in twilight. _Know that. I will always forgive you._

At the time, they were children, just learning to Weave. Enmity, pain, hatred—that came later, with John.

She lost Mary to fire. It was not her creation; she cannot form heat. And that fire comes back now, for Sam.

_Turn around, _she whispers, voice echoing like an endless cavern. _Save him from the flames._

He doesn't remember, this boy of the sun, child of the dawn. But he listens. He has Mary's eyes and Mary's heart, and that will be enough.


	65. Next Year in Jerusalem

**Title**: Next Year in Jerusalem

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "A Very Supernatural Christmas"

**Pairings**: mentions of past Bobby/OFC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 870

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: _pheebs1_ for reading over this

* * *

It was a couple weeks before Christmas of '91 when John stopped by with the boys. It'd been a while since their last visit and John said this one'd be short; he'd just run low on some necessities and Bobby was closest.

Bobby let the boys have the run of the place; they were good kids, wouldn't mess up his system too bad, and kept themselves outta trouble. When John needed his help looking for something in the back, Bobby felt secure enough leaving 'em alone.

He came back to Sam flipping through a book older than most languages, and swiftly, gently, pulled it from the boy's grasp. "No, Sam," he said, trying to keep the gruffness outta his voice.

Sam looked up at him, eyes big and sorrowful. "Sorry, Uncle Bobby," he whispered. "Don't tell Dad I broke the rules?"

"I never told you not to," Bobby said. "So, I think we can keep it to ourselves."

With one last longing glance at the book, Sam trotted over to where his brother was rifling through Bobby's record collection.

Later that night, Bobby heard someone rustling around his den, so he slunk in, already knowing it'd be one of John's boys. And there Sam was, with that same book, eyes wide, devouring up knowledge even most grown men couldn't handle.

"Samuel Winchester," Bobby barked out, finding it hard to believe the quiet kid could'a disobeyed him.

Sam stared up at him, silent for a moment. Then, "Uncle Bobby, is this book tellin' the truth?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "That depends. Why do you wanna know?" Far as he knew, John still hadn't told the boy about hunting.

Sam ducked his head, gently shutting the book and holding it out like an offering. "Dad's gone a lot… sometimes, I get worried. Maybe if he had some sorta protection, he could come back sooner."

Bobby watched him for a second, reaching out to reclaim his book. "Tomorrow, we'll see what can be whipped up. Now, get on back to bed and I won't mention this to your daddy."

"Yes're, Uncle Bobby," Sam said and hopped up, raced to the room he and Dean had been given.

Bobby watched him go and shook his head. John was a fool, thinking he could keep the truth from a sharp boy like Sam. Not his place, though.

In the morning, Sam kept looking at Bobby with hopeful eyes. John took Dean out for a run, leaving Sam in Bobby's care; "When we get back," he said, "be ready to head out, Sammy."

Left alone with Sam, Bobby found his resistance to those big, puppy eyes fading. "Alright," he finally said. "Let's look for somethin' that'll do your daddy some good."

He set to Sam work flipping through the least-disturbing volumes he owned, ones that he hoped wouldn't set the boy to thinking about the dark and lurking monsters. He'd been pondering what Sam might be looking for—a charm, maybe, something small that not many things would know about. Strong, though. Bobby Singer didn't do things halfway, and a man like John, with storm clouds following in his wake, needed some help.

And then he found it, just a small scrap of paper tucked away between the pages of a book he hadn't thought about since Loraine's passing: an incongruous amulet she'd been preparing, for the baby in her womb. Bobby brushed the faded letters with his fingertips, remembering the scent of her hair, how she felt pressed against him, the sound of their baby's heartbeat loud in his ear.

"This'll do, Sam," he said.

It would take longer than Sam had, getting Loraine's amulet ready, but Bobby promised that when it was ready, he'd send it Sam's way.

-

It took over a week to gather everything, and then it was just a few simple words. Loraine was a good spell-writer, one of the best in the world; he followed her instructions, penned two decades before, to the letter.

When it worked, he almost felt her kiss his lips and almost heard her whisper, _Like a charm._

_-_

He drove the four hours to John and his boys, dropping off his parcel. Sam grinned up at him, wider than the world, and breathed, "_Thank you_, Uncle Bobby," turning it around in his palm. "It'll protect him?"

Bobby nodded. "It's strong, Sam. Special. So long as your daddy takes good care of it, he'll be fine."

Sam hugged him and Bobby ruffled his hair. "Gotta get goin', kid," he said. "Promised the dogs I'd be back in time for supper."

-

It was a good three months after the New Year before Bobby saw them again, and he paused for a moment, watching John and the boys come up the drive. Something gold glinted on Dean's torso.

But Bobby ignored his shock in favor of greeting some of the few people he could stand, and never did get around to asking Sam why he gave that protection to his brother.

-

It was years after, when Hell came calling and then crawled back soulless, whimpering and flinching, when John's younger boy stood tall and proud, with Dean breathing and gasping behind him, gold glinting on his chest, that Bobby finally understood.


	66. patchwork drapery of dreams

**Title**: patchwork drapery of dreams

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Marilyn Nelson.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up "The Kids Are Alright"; future!fic

**Pairings**: Hendrickson/OFC

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1535

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: my newest cousin, born at 9:33 this morning(Dec 20). Welcome to the world, lovie!

* * *

It's been ten years since that fiasco in Arkansas, the most embarrassing night of his life, and Victor hasn't thought about those escape-artists in half a decade. He got reassigned, got new obsessions, and even reconnected with Marissa, his wife.

So when Collins calls him and says, "Hendrickson, we got one of your red-flags," Victor doesn't immediately think about Dean and Sam Winchester.

-

The kid's not even twenty, but looking at him is like staring back in time. His mom's standing beside his hospital bed, spitting fire, not letting anyone close enough to touch.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Lisa Braedon demands, and Victor can see why a wild man like Dean Winchester would be attracted to her. "The FBI?"

"Ma'am," Collins says kindly, trying to placate her. "It's a misunderstanding. We just need to speak with you about your son's father."

She rolls her eyes. "I haven't seen him since Ben's conception. Now, _get out of this room_."

Collins nods, attempting to charm her. She glares. Victor watches the boy, who hasn't spoken once; Ben meets his eyes, and it's déjà vu—he looks exactly like his father, like that smartass murderer Victor had slip through his fingers twice in a span of months.

-

"Her story checks out," Collins tells him. "Twenty year old kid, wild weekend with some guy she met at a party—no record of Winchester ever visiting at all. He probably doesn't even know he has a son."

"He knows," Victor counters. "He just doesn't care."

-

There's no reason to watch over the Braedons, but Victor does. There hasn't been any hint of the Winchester brothers in almost nine years, but now that Victor's been given a new lead, he can't let it go.

Ben's a freshman at college, engineering major. He excels at math and chemistry, plays in a band on the weekends—lead guitar and singer. Never in trouble. Always the center of attention.

He's six foot one, dark hair, hazel eyes. And he's so much like Dean Winchester, Victor wants to pick him up just to keep the public safe from whatever's lurking in his genetic code.

-

But months pass. Victor is given a new case, a major one, and Ben Braedon slips his mind.

When he checks back in, at the start of the new year, Ben's gone without a trace, and Lisa refuses to answer any questions, eyes dark and forbidding, refusing to let Victor in the door.

"Road trip," Lisa's closest friend says. "With a relative of his dad's."

Victor feels a surge of triumph go through him. Finally. He knew those Winchesters weren't dead and gone, no matter what the department said.

-

They're hard to track, Ben and his partner, and Victor doesn't catch up until nearly June. But Ben's still learning, and gets himself caught in Montana, breaking into a funeral parlor. Luckily, Victor had been visiting with Marissa's parents, otherwise he'd have never gotten there in time to see Sam Winchester charming his way into an interrogation room with Ben.

Over ten years since he saw Sam Winchester up close, but he recognizes him instantly. "Freeze!" he yells, pulling his gun, aiming it straight at Sam's head.

Sam turns, glances over his shoulder, holding his hands out. His lips curve, but Victor knows it's not a smile.

"Agent Hendrickson," he says. The officers react, all following Victor's lead. Sam's eyes roam the room but he doesn't move.

"Where's your brother?" Victor asks. Dean's the one he really wants, the one he's always wanted.

Sam's gaze returns to Victor. "You'll never catch him," he says, little brother glee threading the words. "No matter where you look, or for how long."

"Agent," one of the officers asks quietly. "What's going on?"

"Cuff him," Victor directs. "Never leave him alone. I need to make a call."

-

They keep Ben and Sam apart, by Victor's orders. He knows that's how the brothers had always escaped; no reason to give uncle and nephew the same chance.

Victor tells Marissa to head on home without him; he'll be tied up at work for a long while. He's not letting either of those two out of his sight until they're in jail for the rest of their lives.

Well, not Ben. He's just begun, after all. He may have a future, yet. But Sam? His record speaks for itself.

-

All the old evidence is brought back out. Everything is gone over. Ben doesn't speak to anyone, and all Sam ever does is ask for coffee, black. Victor makes his case, hands everything over to the DA, and there's nothing else he can do. But he doesn't want to go home, doesn't want to turn his back, because he knows Sam will find a way out again.

He'd always thought Dean was the mastermind, but he's figured out it's really Sam. Even if Dean was the killer, Sam was the one who actually led the way.

And now he's leading Dean's son.

-

_"We can help you," the state-appointed shrink says gently, eyes sympathetic and kind. "Whatever your uncle has told you, you don't need to fear us."_

_Ben is sullen, eyes dark and hooded, and he scoffs. _

_"Ben," the shrink tries again, reaching out to touch his arm; he pulls away, folding his arms across his chest. She clasps her hands instead. "We've seen the bruises, Ben," she continues, unperturbed by his reaction. "We know he hurts you."_

_Ben shakes his head. "You don't know a damn thing," he mutters, then raises his eyes to meet hers. "Ma'am." _

Victor turns off the tape he shouldn't be watching and sighs.

_-_

Victor's out to lunch with the shrink, Dr. Zoey Dresden, discussing Ben's chances, when he gets the call.

"Agent," the officer says, sounding like a kid that just broke Mama's favorite lamp. "Um… Winchester and Braedon…"

Victor rubs his hand across his face. "Let me guess," he says. "They're gone."

"Yes, sir," the kid responds. "Just... gone. Out of two locked cells on opposite sides of the jail."

Victor just nods, not surprised in the least. It'd always been a matter of time.

-

They place a watch on Lisa Braedon, of course, but Victor doesn't expect much to come of it. He talks to that same obliging friend from last time, but she just clucks at how sad it is, poor Ben getting on the wrong side of the law.

"Always such a nice boy. You know, my Katie's had a crush on him since they were eight years old?" She shakes her head and Victor nods sympathetically.

It's a waste of time, going back to Cicero, but it's the only lead they have.

-

So Victor heads home, makes love to his wife, barbeques for dinner, and tries to ignore what being defeated feels like.

He gets a call, four months down the line, from a number he doesn't recognize. He answers, "Hendrickson" and freezes when he hears Sam Winchester's voice say, "Hey, Vic."

"You want somethin', Winchester?" he asks, keeping his voice steady only by pure, iron will.

"Ben's goin' home. I'll turn myself in—and let you keep me—if ya'll leave him alone." Far as Victor can tell, he's sincere.

"That's not a deal I'm authorized to make," Victor tells him, scrabbling from his cellphone to call in a trace.

"You talk to your superiors, Agent Hendrickson," Sam says, the words deep and dark. "I'll be in touch."

-

Sam gets the deal. Victor's hailed as a hero. But he knows Sam's just playing them all, letting Ben have his life. He knows that Sam could vanish at any time, and he still doesn't understand how.

He visits once a month, just to see if Sam is still there. Sam doesn't make trouble in the prison, keeps to himself. The first week there, some idiots tried to jump him.

No one's tried since.

Victor asks questions that Sam never answers. There are already half a dozen screenplays written about the Winchester brothers, about their spree, about the older and how he just disappeared. All Sam ever does is smirk and lean back in the chair, arms crossed, requesting coffee, black.

It pisses Victor off.

-

Marissa tells him they're taking a trip to Florida or getting a divorce. Victor uses up all of his accumulated vacation time and goes. He spends three weeks beneath the sun, reconnecting with the love of his life(again), remembering just how much fun can be had when he lets his worries go.

It's the best three weeks of his life, and he forgets about work, about dangerous men who could escape at any moment.

He gets to the office the Wednesday he returns from Florida and learns that Sam Winchester vanished from the prison.

"Go pick up Ben Braedon," he orders. "Maybe havin' him'll force Winchester back."

"He's gone too, sir," another agent says. "And the mother."

Victor rubs a hand across his face. "Damnit."

**-**

None of them are ever found, no matter how Victor searches. It's the case that haunts him, even years down the road.

But he has Marissa, other cases, brothers and a sister he hasn't seen in so long… it's hard, but he forces himself to let it go.


	67. one who is touched by the sun

**Title**: one who is touched by the sun

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Carly Simon.

**Warnings**: non-con slash; possible blasphemy; future!fic

**Pairings**: Lucifer/Dean

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 645

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: _papercranes_ and _soxykitty_

* * *

He is a creature of sunlight, so Lucifer knows this is the perfect Hell. It is a small room, no bed and no chairs, no table and no toilet. There is no window and no door. The walls are cream, all the better to show blood, and there is only light when Lucifer allows it to shine.

Dean Winchester looks beautiful in darkness, but beyond stunning in sunlight. It is one of the reasons Lucifer dared challenge the Creator for the boy's soul. Creatures that shine are always the most fun to darken.

The boy does not break. Human days pass, turning to months, and he never begs, never whimpers, never even groans. He does not ask for food or water, does not whisper for mercy. Lucifer has taken personal interest in him, something that hasn't been done since those few moments the Son spent Below.

Demons line up outside the room, salivating at Lucifer's feet, asking for the honor of hurting the boy; Lucifer denies them all.

Eventually, the brother(_**Boy**__heirreplacement__**King**_) will come. A reckoning will be had, and no permanent harm must be done to Dean Winchester, lovely creature that he is.

Almost, watching the boy writhe beneath him, painting the wall with his gorgeous, sweet blood, Lucifer wishes sunlight shone in Hell, in this prison of only his own will. He has seen Dean Winchester in sunlight, when he went Above to claim him, when the weak, frail human stood strong in front of him and did not cower away.

Only Lucifer's brother has ever stood before him, even as all other angels cringed back from his fury. Dean Winchester is a most impressive human.

_I hope you know what you do, _Michael had whispered in the back of his mind.

Lucifer had shot a jaunty grin to the sky and taken the boy Below, locked him away, played with him at his leisure.

The BoyKing is coming, that child of moon and sun, the child handpicked by the Creator. Lucifer will not be able to stand in his way, once his full potential is realized.

Here, Below, in this realm Lucifer fashioned, he has been unchallenged for eons, for longer than even he has measure. But the end is coming, hidden behind floppy hair and a frail human body.

Dean Winchester is strong enough to not shatter beneath all of Lucifer's attention. His brother(**BoyKing**) is stronger still, with enough power to tear Hell down to the foundations.

_I hope you know what you do, _Michael had whispered, still able to love his arrogant brother after everything.

_I know exactly what I do, _Lucifer thinks, unknowing if Michael can hear him through Hell, Earth, and Heaven.

Samuel Winchester is coming for the one thing left in existence he cares for, and his wrath will be great. His wrath will lash, not just at Lucifer and demons, but at the Creator for allowing it to happen.

Samuel Winchester is chosen, son of light and dark, but not just by the Creator.

Lucifer caresses Dean Winchester's face and the boy does not flinch, just watches him with resigned eyes.

The boy is not broken. The boy will not break, and his brother is on the way.

"Remember," Lucifer murmurs into his ear, scooping a handful of blood out of his chest cavity, where it pools and overflows. "When he is here, remember why I do this."

Dean Winchester says nothing in response, but after all his millennia, Lucifer can read human gazes. This human is as dangerous as he ever was Above, merely biding his time.

It will be Samuel who rips down Hell and Heaven, but Dean Winchester will destroy Lucifer, when the time finally comes.

He will be glorious, this creature of sunlight. And Lucifer will die with the knowledge that the last victory is his, when Samuel storms Heaven and it burns.


	68. You always walked a step behind

**Title**: You always walked a step behind

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Wind Beneath My Wings"

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Malleus Maleficarum"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 300

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: I gave not!Tammy a demon name. Deal with it.

* * *

He believes her, the fool. Both of them think she's helping out of some plan for the greater good.

She was human once, yes. And she hated it. Why else would she have given herself to Kaliel? It was the best decision she ever made, selling her humanity for power, and she has never looked back.

But Kaliel was weak, could not see the bigger picture beyond gaining human souls.

Azazel and his whore, the crossroad's bitch, did, though. So they created Sam, born of humans.

Humans are weak creatures in body, with malleable and breakable flesh. But their souls, their wills…

Sam will lead. To save his brother from Satan, he will have no other option. And she will be there, his guide. She will be there, favored above all but Dean.

Azazel, his whore, and Kaliel all failed because they underestimated the brothers. But she, once-human and self-named, understands them. Of all her numerous mistakes over the centuries, underestimating the Winchesters will never be one of them.

Neither of them fully trusts her, she knows. They both think they're using her, but she is using them for her own ends.

She will never rule an empire or command an army, but being an advisor to the king is more than enough. Azazel and Kaliel both reached too far, too high. Satan will suffer no rivals, and he hungers for Dean's soul.

So she will deliver Dean to Satan's feet and watch Sam rip the world apart. She will follow him down, will help him reclaim Dean, and stand at his side under the new dawn.

She has everything planned, every possibility prepared for, and she is ready.

Yes… Azazel and the rest underestimated the brothers. But she knows them, and that is a mistake she will not make.


	69. The blood told as blood will

**Title**:The blood told as blood will

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Sin City"(just the Yellow-Eyed Demon's name)

**Pairings**: mentions of Sam/Jessica, John/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She is a pretty little thing, Jessica. Like Mary Winchester was. Tall and blond with the largest hazel eyes—oh, yes, the Winchester men have a type, alright.

It watches her pace, Azazel. She has no talent, nothing it can discern. Why, of all possible mates, did darling Samuel choose her? She is beautiful and smart, but so are many women.

It doesn't matter. Jessica Moore will die, just like Mary. Pity, though, that the girl is useless beyond that.

At least, Mary had fire, that same spark that will dance in Samuel's eyes when Jessica's blood anoints his brow.


	70. Day of Thanks

**Title**: Day of Thanks  
**Disclaimer**: guess what? _They're all mine_. hee  
**Warnings**: future!fic; AU  
**Pairings**: none  
**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 440  
**Notes**: not what I'd originally intended, this piece. Oh, well.

* * *

"Momma," she asks, walking into the kitchen, "what're you thankful for?"

You crouch down, meeting the largest hazel eyes you've ever seen. "Why you askin', baby girl?"

"I'se readin' an old book and it talked 'bout Indians and Pilgrims, and I jus' wondered." She blinks up innocently and your heart hurts.

"I'm thankful for _you_," you answer with a smile. "And Davy, Jonah, Victor, Georgia—"

She cuts you off with a laugh. "You don't gotta list 'em _all_, Momma."

You laugh with her, desperately trying to control your urge to sob. She won't understand. She can't. You reach out and pull her to you, cradle her in your arms.

She's already lived longer than the others, attaining her sixth birthday. She's the one It wants, and It'll do anything to get her.

You'll do anything to keep It from getting anywhere near her. "I love you, Sammy," you murmur in her ear and kiss the top of her head.

"I know, Momma," she says, tilting her head back to meet your eyes. Her eyes are expressive, shining with every emotion she feels; you need to teach her to guard herself better.

But not yet.

Not yet.

"I need get back to cookin' supper, baby girl," you tell her, unwrapping your arms. She steps back and you want to pull her close, to shelter her from the coming storm, to stash her somewhere away from pain and fear and war. "Go play with the puppies, teach 'em how to hunt."

She grins impishly and rushes off. You watch her go, move to the doorway so you can watch the first few minutes of rumble'n'tumble.

The puppies won't hurt her, can't—it's not in their blood. But when they're grown, when they're ready—

The oldest meets your gaze, curls his lip back; most would look at him and think _dangerous_ or _angry,_ would put him down before he's a threat. The puppies are the last of a long-forgotten breed, legendary in its own right.

Instead of looking away or wondering if Sammy's really safe in their company, you nod to Enkidu. In this house, in _this_ pup's care, nothing can hurt her, nothing can come for her unless you invite it.

For a brief second, looking into Enkidu's blue eyes, you wonder for an instant if Sammy's father would approve of how you're fighting his war.

Enkidu blinks and lets his lip fall back into place; he joins your daughter and the rest of his litter, playing like all young things do.

Your heart aches and you return to supper.

"I'm thankful for peace," you whisper, knowing you won't have it for much longer.


	71. When the trumpets fade

**Title**: When the trumpets fade

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: slight AU for "The Kids Are Alright"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 170

**Point of view**: third

* * *

_Tell me_, Sam demands_. Right now._

_Ruby,_ she answers, lying. _Call me Ruby_, she corrects, hoping for leniency when he learns the truth.

He repeats _Ruby_ softly, eyes assessing her. He stands tall, using his height to full advantage, and she studies him in return.

His power glows around him. How anyone can miss it is beyond her.

_I'm here to help_, she says. _And that's the truth._

_I'm sure,_ he scoffs, slowly sinking back onto the bed.

She doesn't take that as acceptance, or him relaxing. Azazel chose him for a reason, and she can see it in the very air around him. Once he's realized… she must be on his side, must have his confidence.

So she plays her trump card. _I can help you save Dean._

She doesn't understand love anymore. But she does know loyalty. She will be loyal to Sam, and he is loyal to Dean. She knows that they are a matched set.

That's where Azazel went wrong, a mistake she refuses to make.


	72. Women have lovely bones

**Title**: Women have lovely bones

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: Lucifer/Lilith

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1000

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: written because SadeLyrate is awesome

* * *

Centuries lost in the dark and now she has form again. Lucifer is gone, Adam long dead, and Yahweh has closed the Gates of Heaven to everyone.

The world is overrun by arrogant apes, Adam's weak descendants. They are disgusting creatures and she _will_ cleanse the Earth of their filth one day.

She needs aid, though. Her power must be built back up. The upstart gods had the right idea: human worship gives strength. So she sends out tendrils, tempting them to sell themselves, and they do. She prefers females; those who cradle life within their own bodies always have a bit more power.

Demons flock to her once she is known. Adam's first wife, who left Eden of her own will, to become Lucifer's favorite—she is legend and myth in Hell's firelit caverns.

_Lilith_, they whisper_. The queen has come back to us._

Lucifer vanished. She asks quietly around, but no one knows where or why. She leaves Hell, following a murmur of dark power. Azazel, one of Lucifer's children, has left a trail of human young with demon blood across the world.

Lilith studies them all, ever rebuilding her strength. Some are weaker than others, but one stands above the rest.

He is still a child, but such potential… he is more than Azazel-tainted. He feels like Lucifer.

She has found her lover after centuries of loneliness in the dark, and he is a human boy.

Lilith watches, hidden for years, while her power grows. Her acolytes are gathering souls and women, and she will be ready when he remembers.

She wonders if Azazel knew what he did, before Lucifer's human brother killed him. Maybe he was working on Lucifer's orders. She'll have to ask him when he's himself again.

She follows him as he grows, as he's trained, as he becomes a kind man. He longs for _normal_ without any memory of who he was, of _what_ he was.

_Ah, my beautiful serpent_, she thinks, watching young Samuel leave his family. _How did you become this child? How will you feel when you learn the truth?_

Lilith travels the world, visiting all of her followers, almost back at full strength. Before being shoved into the abyss, she had been second only to Yahweh and Lucifer. Once freed(an accident? She still doesn't know who opened the door) she'd been weak as a newborn human. Pure will kept her going, the same will that led her from the Garden and Adam's bruising thumb.

Samuel grows and learns while she's gone. She returns to see Azazel burn his attempt at escaping what he thought to be his past.

_Oh, love_, she thinks, watching Samuel sob in his human brother's arms. _You are so far gone. You will be so angry when you learn._

It will be a beautiful fury.

She watches, still unsure of Azazel's plan, still unsure if he follows Lucifer's orders. Azazel tries to kill Samuel's brother, does kill his father, and is then responsible for Samuel's death.

Lilith screams when that fragile dark power is snuffed out. Hell trembles and her rage causes her power to explode, finally as strong as she was before. She howls, a storm swirling around her. Lilith cannot return life and the only hint of Lucifer she's found was in that human boy.

She gathers her pain and power, prepared to strike at Azazel, to punish him for his insolence and traitorous ways.

But then—oh, so glorious—Lucifer is back, breathing in Samuel, returned to life by a dealmaker and human love. She laughs in relief, dancing around Lucifer's palace. He's alive again and she feels younger than she has in millennia.

When the dealmaker returns to Hell, Lilith kisses her, rewards her with a position in the grand design.

Of course, Lucifer kills her, unknowing, but Lilith cannot fault him for it. The demon should have told her king what he wanted to know. And not bad-mouthed Dean. Foolish little thing.

Samuel is Lucifer, Lord of Hell. He is not fully the Lord she remembers, the being she loved but never worshipped. He is part human, and so cripplingly weak. But he has enough of Lucifer to rule. He is enough of Lucifer for her to love.

The human brother, Dean, kills Azazel, and Lilith laughs again, twirling in joy.

She looks away, after the hellgate opens, for a few months, attention captivated by a moral war in the East. When she comes back, one of her generals is dead, killed by Lucifer's human brother, bescause she had attempted to murder Lucifer.

If Dean hadn't killed the bitch, Lilith would have.

In less than six months, Dean will come Below, and Samuel will follow. When he sets foot in Hell, Lilith fully believes, his memories will flow. He will be her Lucifer again.

The demon who calls herself Ruby reveals Lilith's identity to a handful of humans without Lilith's consent. So Lilith visits the small jail and cleans up "Ruby"s mess. She will need to deal with the young demon soon, before she confuses Samuel even more. He has too much in his head already, without her skewed perspective of truth.

Lilith straightens up the palace, airing out rooms long unused. It gives her something to do while her plans come together.

Dean will join them in Hell, and Samuel will follow, and he will become her Lord again.

Lucifer will return to Hell, finally, after so long away. She will be complete again.

_My serpent_, she whispers, as Samuel sleeps wrapped around his human brother on Dean's last night alive. _You will come back to me._

Even if Dean comes with him—which she's sure he will—Lucifer will be worth it.

Hell will be home again, with the true Lord back. Lilith is queen with no king, and Hell is lonely without her gorgeous serpent.

But soon—tomorrow—the hounds will go for Dean, and Samuel will follow him home.

And Lilith's world will be complete again.


	73. the summer shores, where all is green

**Title**: the summer shores, where all is green

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Elizabeth Barrett Browning

**Warnings**: AU, character death

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 1000

**Point** **of** **view**: second

**Notes**: I wanted to write batshit-crazy!Dean, inspired by the talented and twisted Creeno. I got this. shrugs 

* * *

_Blood drips from his fingernails, congealing on the glass floor, trailing along as gravity does its eternal job._

_"Dean." _

_He doesn't look over, just watches the wall with that flat stare. That dead stare. It scares the shit out of you. You'd do anything to make it go away._

_Well… almost anything. Not what he asked of you before hiding himself away behind those empty eyes._

_"Dean," you say again. "He wouldn't want this for you." _

_You would call him _son_, tell him how much you care. But you lost that right, and he's never been your blood._

_This isn't right. Not right at all. But it was the only option left. It'd be a mercy to kill him. All those things he screamed at the end—he'll come back into those eyes of his one day and make them true._

_You deserve it, you know. You'll let him take his vengeance, not fight. Others, though… they won't be so understanding._

_It'd be easy, now. One bullet to the brain or the heart. Intravenous drugs. You could probably suffocate him and he wouldn't struggle, just stare at the damned wall._

_"Dean, boy, c'mon."_

_Nothing. Nothing at all. How's it come to this, one of John's boys dead(the fucking __**Antichrist**__, how fucked up is __**that**__?) and the other just a shell, completely comatose with wide-open eyes? You just don't know._

_"Bobby." Ellen comes in, one sad glance at Dean. "No change?"  
You shake your head. _

_"Gordon's riled them up," she says. "They'll bay for his blood soon. What should we do?"_

_"They were good boys," you murmur. "You only saw them after John died. But they were good boys, good men."_

_You choke back a scream. How the hell has it come this?_

_And that's the answer. It came from Hell. Hellfire in Sam's eyes and Sam's blood. The same blood in Dean's veins, the same blood that's already damned him in Gordon and his followers' eyes._

_But there's nothing you can do. Dean's as dangerous as Sam(don't think of him as chubby, bright-eyed Sammy, curious about everyone and everything. Just… don't.) ever was. Maybe more. Even at the end, Sam was hesitant, unsure._

_But Dean will extract vengeance from the world, when he comes back to himself. Bitter, brutal vengeance, and not just on the guilty._

_You remember him as an overprotective brother, back when Sam was only knee-high. Dean will blame everyone who lives that Sam doesn't anymore, and never again._

_"Forgive me," you whisper. Dean will only ever see that knee-high baby, not the man who was so close to embracing the darkness. Who couldn't help but slide over the edge. "It was for the best, Dean. Even if you'll never believe it."  
Ellen places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bobby," she says. "I know you loved them."_

_"They were good boys," you repeat softly. "The best of boys."_

_Shouting in the next room. Eager, excited voices. Men who just killed the Antichrist. They think they're immortal, invincible._

_You look at Dean, blood dripping from his fingernails, and you know better. _

_"Bobby," Ellen says again. "What do we do?"_

_You don't know. You just don't know. None of this is right. None of it. Sam was such a happy child, so kind of a man… one of the best people you ever knew. But at the end… you had no choice. You didn't._

_Dean doesn't, wouldn't, couldn't see it that way, and you can't find it in you to blame him._

_"Let's go," you tell her. _

_It's the coward's way out, but you've already watched one of John's boys die. You don't have it in you to watch the other, too._

_"Okay," she replies._

_You can't meet her eyes. You can't look back. They're baying for blood, those hunters who saved the world. Lost in victory, in the victor's madness. They won't listen to an old man. If you stay around, they may even start to ask why you didn't see it sooner, what Sam would become._

_You lead the way, slinking around the crowd. Gordon's eyes track you, but he doesn't say anything. He is their god, their king, the man who stopped the Antichrist._

_You almost wish Dean would wake up before what comes next, so he goes down fighting. Almost. His fury, though, his hatred… there's no guarantee they would win. Sam(not Sammy, not Sammy, not that precocious boy with floppy hair and shining green eyes) was caught by surprise, at the beginning of his powers. Dean, though… he won't go down easy. He'll fight with everything he is, everything he has, that fire from his soul lashing out, and those men—they saved the world. They saved billions from Hell's chosen king._

_But they killed Dean's brother to do it. Shot him with Colt's kill-all gun, poured gallons of holy water on him, said half a dozen exorcisms over his writhing body, and still he fought._

_And Dean… Dean. However long you have left to live, his agonized howls will echo in your nightmares. Gordon left it to you to keep Dean contained, and you did. For the good of everyone else, you did. It was only when Sam's body collapsed and lay still, sluggishly bleeding and horrifically broken, that Dean fell in on himself, blankly staring._

_"Forgive me," you whisper again, sitting shotgun in Ellen's car. Your soul hurts. Your eyes ache with tears you refuse to shed. _

_"He would," Ellen lies, and by her voice she knows it. "If he could think clearly, he would."_

_You hold in the snort her words induce with hardship. She's the last ally—friend—you can claim, and she means well. She doesn't know Dean like you do, though._

_It'll be better for the world that he dies in that backroom, still lost—hiding— somewhere deep in himself. _

_It will be. You know it. Somehow, that doesn't make it any easier._

_Ellen asks where to go. Like so much else, you just don't know. _


	74. County Death Records

**Title**: County Death Records

**Disclaimer**: Dean's not mine. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 500

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: When he walks in, her first thought is _God, he_'_s gorgeous_—but then she sees the coiled danger in his walk, recognizes rugged strength and tiger's grace, and she knows that this is a man she could fear.

* * *

It's a Tuesday. Marie's been working at the library for thirty days and some hours(she doesn't feel like counting) when _he_ walks in the door. Now, she knows beautiful people—her sister's a fashion model, after all, and always had her friends at home, before Marie moved out—but she has never, ever seen his equal before.

He gives her a jaunty smile as he passes the check-in desk and heads for the computers. Huge hazel eyes the size of planets, dark blond hair that looks soft as a chick's down, tall—taller than Davey, and he's six foot—with a face that wouldn't be out of place on an angel… and that's when Marie shuts down on the train of thought. If she keeps going that way, she'll be developing a crush on someone she's never even talked to and probably won't see ever again.

-

Thing is, he comes back the next day.

He's limping this time, and has a bruise spreading across the left side of his face. She watches him move toward the computer—same as the day before—and slowly, carefully, sink down into the uncomfortable chair.

But then a patron demands attention and by the time Marie's able to look back, he's gone.

-

Next time, it's three nights later, about an hour before closing. Marie and Thomas are the only workers there, and there're three patrons. The bruise has faded, though still visible, but he moves fine again.

Like Apollo, actually, her cat. Marie studies the man—unparalleled in gorgeousness, but he's not just a pretty boy. He's a fighter.

Dangerous. Very, _very_ dangerous.

Marie likes that in a man.

-

On Monday, he comes back again. Marie's determined to talk to him this time, to see if she can help in some way. She's a librarian, right? That's what librarians do.

But when he walks in the door, he heads straight for her, smiling _that_ smile.

She's immune to the smile. Really. George broke her of gorgeous men grinning at her, the bastard.

Marie still gets weak at the knees, though, when he leans on the counter. "Hello, miss," he drawls.

She nods. "Can I help you?"

"I was hopin' you might have a copy of the county death records," he tells her, peering up at her through his lashes. Really long, dark lashes, even better than her sister's. Now, that's just not fair.

"They got burned up about ten years ago, I think," Marie says.

He slumps. "Damn. That'll make my project that much harder."

Marie bites her lip, studying him. When he notices, he straightens back up. "There are a few copies, maybe. Shoved to the back."

He smiles.

-

When Marie heads to the backroom the next time, she pretends not to notice that a folder is missing.

She doesn't see him again, until seven years later and Thomas is watching "America's Most Wanted."

She'd been right, it turns out. He's a dangerous man. And still more beautiful than anyone she's ever seen.


	75. claim the sky

**Title**: claim the sky

**Disclaimer**: Dean's not mine, or Ally. Title from Maya Angelou

**Warnings**: pre-series

**Pairings**: non-incestuous het

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 580

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: katriel1987

**Prompt**: Her name was Ally, and she was in Dean's class; she didn't tell him to stop, but her eyes got wide and frightened, so he drove her home, kissed her on the cheek, and told her goodnight.

* * *

Her name was Alyson, but everyone called her Ally. She was more of a shadow than anything, always in the corner, quiet and reading. She answered questions when called on and spoke when first spoken to, and no one knew that she wanted to be an astronaut some day and walk on the moon.

It was three months into the school-year when Dean Winchester showed up. He was badass with a leather jacket and wicked smirk, and the popular crowd took to him instantly. Ally watched him when everyone else looked away, with nothing better to do, and saw the danger lurking in him.

She never talked to him, never talked to anyone if she could help it, because she remembered middle school and when they were all cruel. She still hadn't forgiven Derek or Tasha, and she never ever would.

Four and a half weeks after Dean first arrived, he asked her out. He stood by her desk and waited till she looked up from _Shane_ to softly say, "Wanna see a movie with me Saturday night?" She waited for the punchline and it never came.

-

Angelica helped her get ready, painting her cheeks and eyelids, her nails and her lips.

"He's not gonna show up," Ally told herself, preparing herself for the inevitable disappointment. Guys looking like him just didn't go for girls like her, mousy and shy, heads in the clouds.

Daddy told her she looked beautiful, like a princess; Mama smiled gently. Angelica cocked her head and proclaimed Ally her masterpiece.

Dean was five minutes late and Ally couldn't believe that he actually made it, that he spoke respectfully to her parents and only grinned at Angelica, didn't leer like every other guy she knew would've. "I'll have her back by ten," he told Daddy, who nodded. "See that you do."

-

Ally never could remember what movie they saw, or what happened in it, or if the good guys won. She spent the whole hour-and-a-half focusing on Dean's heat next to her, on his scent, on his hand gently clasped around hers and his arm across her shoulders.

It was the most exhilarating, heart-stopping hour-and-a-half of her life.

-

He took her out for ice cream after and they talked about school, about long-term goals and dreams. For the first time, she told someone her hopes of walking on the moon. He didn't laugh, but asked intelligent questions about the space program.

"You'll do it," he said. "I have faith in you."

Ally bet that she glowed.

The night was still young, with over an hour left till her curfew; Dean took her driving and they ended up at the hills overlooking town.

She'd known it was too good to be true, just like Derek all over again.

He leaned over her, pulling her close, and Ally tried not to flinch back. She'd had a good time, and he'd paid for everything. This would just even the debt.

"Ally," he murmured. "Breathe."

She looked up at him and his eyes were gentle. "All you had to do was say no," he told her. "I wouldn't—" He didn't finish the thought.

-

He took her home, walked her to the door, thanked her for a lovely evening, kissed her cheek, and said goodnight.

Dean wasn't in school on Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday. He never came back. She heard all sorts of rumors, but never really found out what happened to him.

He's still the nicest boy she ever knew.


	76. protector of the fools

**Title**: protector of the fools

**Disclaimer**: the boys aren't mine; just for fun.

**Warnings**: takes place sometime after the current season

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1145

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: layne67

**Prompt**: Sam/Dean, third person POV, maybe Sam's old college friend perhaps? And the friend sensing that there's something between them but he/she couldn't quite pin it for what it is? 

**Notes**: this doesn't exactly follow the prompt. hope you like it nonetheless!

* * *

Bethany didn't make it a habit to sneak out of the house after curfew, but Mom and Dave were yelling loud enough to wake the dead, so she made an exception.

They didn't even notice when she crept by the den, just kept screaming about bills and college—which was still over two years away, so made no sense—and some woman named Monica.

Oh. Bethany paused. Dave cheated on Mom? Bastard.

Anyway. She made it out of the house without getting caught and headed east, to the graveyard. Only Janna knew about her habit of wandering around cemeteries, and Janna was in Austin with her dad for the week.

It was after midnight and the streets were quiet. Bethany cut through a few yards; only Buddy, the Newman's' Rottweiler was out and he woofed softly at her, thumping his tail on the ground. She smiled at him and kept going.

Only a single, rusty chain held the gate shut. She climbed over the fence. This particular graveyard, Shady Grove, hadn't been used in decades. It was quiet, peaceful.

Janna didn't really understand this habit of hers, wandering around in-between tombstones with the words long since faded away into shadows. Bethany found it soothing, seeing that everything would end.

Dad's grave is in Alabama. Bethany'd never been there, but she really wanted to go. The instant she turned eighteen, she was running and never looking back.

She walked around the cemetery for a few minutes, just soaking up peace. She buried all her problems with ease, since there really weren't that many, and sank against one of the tombstones, leaning back into the cool marble.

Bethany didn't mean to fall asleep and she startled awake when someone cursed just on the other side of the headstone.

"Damnit, dude, watch what you're doin'!" 

Bethany jerked, gasping. Someone was rustling just out of sight. Multiple someones. Multiple _male_ someones.

Oh, shit.

She held her breath, sinking down even further. 

"Dean, you walked into me!" a second voice said. "And quiet down."

"_You_ quiet down," the first voice shot back.

So, just two someones. 

A heavy sigh reverberated through the night; despite her predicament, Bethany had to bite her lip so she wouldn't giggle.

"Your wit astounds me, Dean."

"Shut up, Sam."

Bethany listened as the two dropped stuff and then—were they digging up the grave? What the hell for?

All of sudden, everything got quiet. Bethany had to take a breath, so she did it as silently as possible. 

When the large hand grabbed her arm and pulled, she screamed. Almost instantly, another hand covered her mouth.

"Whoa, whoa," the first voice, Dean, said, turning her around without removing either hand. "Just calm down, alright? We won't hurt you."

She looked at them, trying to follow his instructions. They both were big, so big. She couldn't see much beyond that in the moonlight. 

"I'll let go if you don't scream," Dean said. She nodded.

Slowly, he lifted his hands off her. She stood still, heart racing, promising God and Mom that she'd never leave the house after dark again if she made it home unhurt tonight.

"What the hell are you doing in a graveyard at night?" Dean asked. 

That startled her enough to respond, "What are you?"

Sam, even larger than Dean, holy hell, snorted. Then he said soothingly, "We're not doing any harm."

She nodded, fear and shock turning to the stupid bravery that had her jumping out of a two-story window on a dare in third grade. "Right, digging up graves for kicks is harmless." 

"You should just go home, forget you ever saw us," Dean suggested, and it sounded anything but.

Big as they were, they hadn't made any threatening moves yet. She got the feeling they wouldn't. Not quite harmless, but not dangerous, either.

"What are you doing?" she asked. 

Dean groaned. "Look, kid, just go home, alright?"

Mom told her once that she inherited her stubbornness from her father. "No. Not until you explain."

In the dark, Bethany watched their silhouettes turn to each other. After a few moments, they turned back to her.

"There's a vengeful spirit with bones in this grave," Sam said confidently. "We burn the bones and pour salt over the fire, the spirit will be destroyed." 

She scoffed. "The truth."

"That is the truth, sweetheart," Dean replied. "Been a lot of strange deaths in this town, all centered at the Town Hall. You've noticed, right?"

Which, yeah, she had. That's why she and Janna hadn't ever snuck in there during meetings, even when Carlos Mancia came for a show. 

"Fine," she said. "I'll just stay here and watch then."

"No," they responded at the same time.

She crossed her arms. "Unless you physically force me, I'm not leaving. And if you do that, I'll scream. Bet that'd put a crimp in your ghost-busting plans."

"Please go home," Dean groaned. "Kid, this isn't a joke. It's _dangerous_." 

Bethany raised an eyebrow. "I can wait."

Sam sighed. "Dean, let's just get back to it." 

They made her hold the flashlight. If it drifted over to them instead of the ground a few times so she could see what they looked like, neither of them mentioned it.

Old, but not too old. Late twenties, early thirties, maybe. Damn fine, too. Even with her as an audience, they bickered like one of those old couples on ancient TV shows. They seemed to forget she was there, moving around each other with long-practiced ease.

She wondered if Mom and Dad had been like that, before the accident. If maybe one day she could have that.

It was over quickly, Dean dropping a lit match onto the gasoline-soaked corpse. "Ya'll do this a lot?" she asked, watching it burn.

Sam chuckled. Dean said, "Yeah." 

Sunlight was softly beginning to glow in the east. She studied them; they really were damn fine. "If I asked nicely, would ya'll kiss?" 

They shared a look, then Dean shook his head. "Sorry, sweetheart. We don't do shows."

"Want us to walk you home?" Sam asked as Dean packed up their kit. 

"Thanks, but no thanks," she answered. "I can handle that." 

"Just…" Dean paused. "Don't go out at night anymore. It's not safe."

She stared up at him, then moved her gaze to Sam. Not harmless, but not dangerous, either. The next people she met might not be like that. It really would be best to stay in from now on… plus, there was her promise to Mom and God.

"I'll think about it," she said.

Dean scoffed. "'course you will." 

She didn't say goodbye, and she bet they followed her home. Instead of freaking her, that made her feel safe.

Mom and Dave greeted her at the door, angry and relieved. She listened to their rant and finally shook them off to go call Janna. 


	77. Prophet

**Title**: Prophet

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to "Malleus Maleficarum"; speculation; shades of AUness

**Pairings**: lightly implied Ruby/Samuel Colt

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: I got to wondering… why does the handy-dandy Kill Anything gun work on Azazel of the yellow eyes, and not on Not!Tammy of the usual black? Hmm?

* * *

He doesn't trust her. Wise of him. He accepts help, though, because he cares for those foolish, foolhardy boys, and they will need Samuel Colt's treasure in the days to come.

It won't be as good as the original, of course. She is not the craftsmen dear Samuel was, and neither is the human. This secondhand Colt will only work on lower-level demons, the dregs, the young ones.

She has her meat-suit lightly trace the gun. Samuel was a master, that the metal still tingles with power.

And now another Samuel commands it. Maybe this one will finally be enough.


	78. I would I were at rest

**Title**: I would I were at rest

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Elizabeth Barrett Browning

**Warnings**: implied incest; AU

**Pairings**: implied het incest

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 575

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: for ultraviolet9a on the occasion of her birth. Prompt given was _showdown between Bela and Ruby_

* * *

The Colt is cold in her hands; it knows she's a thief, unworthy to hold a king of hunters' weapon.

She has always been unworthy, too prideful to bow, too foolhardy to stay gone, too angry to let go.

She is her mother's daughter, after all. And her father's whore.

o0o

She sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the Colt. She holds it away from her body, barrel pointed to the floor.

A part of her wants to end this. She grips the gun that can kill anything in her sweaty, small hands. One light squeeze is all it would take. So simple. So quick.

The Colt points at the floor, with only two bullets in it. She doesn't move.

o0o

She hears the news, unsurprised. Of course the Winchesters escaped death again. Dying does not become them; no Reaper will take them, not yet.

The Colt gleams, glints, whispers a siren-song.

But she is strong. She must do this, must at least try. Despite all her failures, all her short-comings, she has earned that much. Father groomed her for this one purpose, his sweet little girl, his vengeance finally honed. Where he failed so many times, squandered so many chances—she will succeed.

There are two bullets.

o0o

"Clever girl," the demon says, host's blonde hair swinging. She looks nothing like Mother did… but then, Mother was only ever a host.

Father used to tell her, so often, she had her mother's eyes. It was one of a dozen reasons he saw nothing wrong with what he did.

"When Sam told me you'd stolen the Colt," the demon says, "I knew."

Her hand is tight on the gun, the deus ex machina, the last fail-safe. Her heart gallops in her chest, like the horses Father never let her ride. Tears prick in her eyes; she blinks, forcing them back.

This must be done.

"Give me the Colt, darling Annabelle," the demon says. "This is not how you want it to end."

o0o

Father told her the story: demon possessing his wife, conceiving the Chosen One, giving him knowledge. But the Chosen One was born female, meaning the child was not chosen, after all.

Her whole life was tied up in Father's vengeance for his disappointment. All she knows is the task given her, the task she must complete for absolution for her crime of being born female.

Samuel Winchester is what she should have been, and she hates him for it.

o0o

The demon steps closer. This host really looks nothing like Mother—too blonde, too wholesome. Mother was razor-edged.

Her hand is sweating around the gun.

"Daughter," the demon says. She doesn't even know the real name. "The Colt."

"Why didn't you kill me?" she asks. "When you knew I wasn't—"

The demon smiles with its host's mouth. "Because you still had your uses, Annabelle."

"I loathe you," she hisses, finger tightening on the trigger.

There are two bullets.

"I know," the demon purrs, reaching out a stolen hand to touch the Colt.

She jerks back, shifting the Colt minutely, squeezing the trigger.

The host's expression of shock is beautiful; electricity sparks on the stolen skin.

There is one bullet; the Colt burns in her hand.

o0o

She gets Dean's voicemail, leaves a message.

_Hey, Dean? I believe I have something of yours. If you want it back… Icy Pines Lodge, in Pierre. I suggest you arrive before the policemen. _

_o0o_

There are no bullets left.


	79. the child is strong

**Title**: the child is strong

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Gordon Lightfoot

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Faith"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 240

**Point of view**: third

* * *

_A boy will come to your tent tomorrow, _he told Roy. _A powerful, shining boy. With him will be a shadow. Pick that shadow. Heal that shadow. I will protect you if you do—and if you don't… if you let that shadow leave as dark as it came, I will personally insure that your death will be more painful than any since the last crucifixion. Am I clear?_

Roy listened to nuances in the man's voice: surety and power gave him strength. The man was certain his wishes would be followed.

_I heal as the Lord directs, _Roy answered. He feared nothing mortal, not since he woke after he should have died.

_No, _the man countered. _You heal as you choose. And you will choose the shadow accompanying the light, or you will suffer. Believe me, padre—heal the shadow. _

And the man was gone.

o0o

Into the tent walked a beacon brighter than anything Roy had seen when he had eyes. Brighter than the moon and the stars, and even the sun—he nearly held up his hand to shade his eyes, the glow was so much.

And next to the light trudged a fading shadow. In the darkness at its center pulsed a flickering, faint shine. So pure, so small… Roy could see that this shadow used to be even brighter than the other.

When the shadow spoke, Roy knew he would do as the man wished.


	80. all the hollow deep of Hell resounded

**Title**: all the hollow deep of Hell resounded

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from John Milton

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Time Is On My Side"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_Hey, sweetheart, _he says, circling her with a shark's grin. _Long time, no see. _

_Not long enough, _she tartly replies, spinning to follow him with her eyes.

_You look good, _he purrs and she's not surprised. Hell itself hasn't the strength to change this man.

_Have you risen yet? _she asks. She finds it odd that he's still here. His brother should have gotten him out centuries ago.

_Been to the surface and back, _he answers. _Lots of times_. _You?_

She shakes her head. _I have no bargaining tools._

He smirks. _Just gotta know the right people, babe. Gotta have friends in high—low—places. _

Ah.

_He's here, then? _She hasn't been nervous in longer than… well, a long time. But if she missed the coronation, then…

Her eyes fly to his. _Yes, _Dean says quietly, satisfaction threading the words. _Sammy's here. Lilith's gone._

_And you sought me out, Dean? Why? _

His smile is vicious and his eyes turn black edged in gold. _You sold us out while alive, bitch. You won't get the chance in death. _

Centuries in Hell have taught her torment. He shows her new meanings of the word, and her soul is cast into oblivion screaming.


	81. a single soul dwelling in two bodies

**Title**: a single soul dwelling in two bodies

**Disclaimer**: if you recognize them? they're not mine. title from Aristotle.

**Warnings**: pre-series

**Pairings**: OFC/OMC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 980

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: for dreamlittleyo

* * *

"Sasha! Nicky!" Danielle yells when she gets home. She's later than usual and neither answered the phone when she called.

"Kids!" she yells again, tossing her purse on the couch, heart galloping.

"Up here, Mom!" Sasha yells back.

Danielle's chest loosens in relief. She'll ground them both for a month, scaring her like that, especially with the Davidson boy still missing.

She stalks up the stairs, temper rising with every step. A month's grounding and spinach casserole for dinner every night, no matter what Adam says. He doesn't like it, he can cook his own supper.

The kids are in Nicky's room, huddled in the middle of the floor. Seeing that they're safe takes away part of her anger. Maybe not spinach—tuna instead.

Sasha smiles at her. "Hey, Mom," she says. "How was work?"

Nicky looks over his shoulder. "Can we keep them, Mom?" he asks. "Please?"

Not the first time he's come home with something, but Sasha's never been involved before.

"Keep what?" Danielle steps into the room and they each hold up a kitten.

Well, hell.

o0o

The kittens are tiny, far too young to be away from their mother—not that Danielle knows anything about cats. She's never been interested in animals. They're fluffy and curious, investigating the den with single-minded purpose. Sasha and Nicky are captivated.

One kitten is slightly larger, the orange-and-white. He follows the smaller black-and-white one around, getting between him and anything that could be dangerous.

Of course, Danielle had swiftly straightened up the den before letting the kids bring the kittens down, moving everything breakable and sharp out of reach. Now she watches her babies watch their foundlings, trying to harden her heart.

They can't keep the kittens. The kids are still too young, too irresponsible—Sasha is barely ten, Nicky only seven. Neither she nor Adam are home enough to take care of them. They don't have the time and they don't have the money.

The orange knocks his brother over, meowing. The black mewls, batting at him with tiny, kitten-sharp claws. They wrestle, toppling tail over ears, and Danielle leaves the room so that she won't even more in love.

She has never wanted a pet. And they can't keep these kittens.

o0o

Danielle agrees to let the kittens stay overnight. Sasha names the orange Paprika, while Nicky calls the black Orion. Adam tells Danielle they can make it work; after all, the kittens are just little things. How hard could it be?

Danielle wants to smack him and says he's taking them to the vet tomorrow—and leaving them there.

o0o

Just after two in the morning, howling wakes Danielle. Deep, lonely howling that sounds very close.

"What the hell?" Adam mutters.

Danielle slips out of bed and pads downstairs to the laundry room, where they'd locked the kittens.

Both of them are crying, piercing whimpers that hurt her heart.

"Oh, babies," she sighs. They're entirely too young to be away from their mama.

The howling devolves to sharp barks, just outside her house. She goes to the window—there's a large dog in her backyard, sniffing around. In the scant illumination from the streetlight, he's no more than a shadow.

She leaves him to it, going back to the kittens. They're still crying. She's never wanted a pet, never needed some animal to give her affection and love. Adam and the kids are more than enough to deal with.

Danielle forces herself upstairs and crawls next to Adam, burrowing into him. They can't keep the kittens.

o0o

Danielle doesn't wake till after Adam's gone to work. It's her day to drive the kids to school, so she goes to make sure they're up.

They are, in the backyard with the kittens and a large dog.

Danielle freezes, terror shooting through her. Her babies with a strange, giant dog—he could rip out their throats, disembowel them, tear them to pieces before she could scream—

Orion pulls himself up onto the dog's back and Nicky giggles, lifting Orion to the dog's head.

"Sasha Caroline Gregor!" Danielle screams. "What are you doing?"

Sasha jumps to her feet, whirling to face Danielle. "Mom!" she gasps. "He's friendly!"

Danielle stalks forward, terror giving way to rage. "Get in the house, now! Both of you!"

Nicky scrambles up. "Mom!" he whines, but she's beyond fury.

"_Get in the house_," she says again, low and vicious.

Sasha grabs her brother's sleeve and pulls him after her. "But Orion!" Nicky yells. Sasha doesn't answer.

Orion slides off the dog's head and Paprika moves in front of him, between Danielle and the black. The dog slowly rises to his feet, stepping over them, till they're beneath his belly.

She sucks in a breath as he just gazes at her, eyes dark and serene. "They're yours?" she asks softly.

Of course, the dog doesn't answer. He watches her back away, into the house, shutting and locking the door. Then he gently closes his mouth around Orion and carries him away, Paprika tumbling behind him.

o0o

Nicky doesn't speak to her for three days. On Friday, Danielle takes him and Sasha to her sister's house and says, "Aunt Caroline's cat just gave birth. She's agreed to let you pick a kitten out, for us to bring home when they're weaned."

"Both of us?" Sasha asks.

Danielle shakes her head. "You have to agree on a kitten."

Nicky perks up. "For real?" He looks at her with assessing eyes. "We get to keep one?"

She nods.

o0o

On Sunday, Zach Davidson is found in the abandoned mill just outside of town, bruised and frightened but alive and talking about monsters.

Monday morning, not that she realizes it's important or noteworthy, a growling black car passes her on the way to work. In the backseat, for a scant second, she sees two boys.

o0o

Sasha and Nicky finally choose a petite tortishell queen; they let Danielle name her Isabel.


	82. They can have their world

**Title**: They can have their world; we'll make our own

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from _Lion King 2: Simba's Pride_

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 460

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Hell was frighteningly organized and with Sam at the helm, it only got worse.

* * *

His first day below, Hantu objected. Lucifer cringed as the newest—and last—Lord's power flew, effectively destroying the naysayer forever.

"Anyone else have something to say?" the Lord asked, voice reverberating throughout the Caverns, echoing off the Lakes.

Beelzebub swallowed nervously, sharing a look with Lucifer. Only Satan, though, had the courage to speak: "We are yours, Majesty."

"Good," the Lord said. "Then find my brother and bring him here."

o0o

Lilith's files were extremely organized and Lucifer found the Lord's brother's location within hours(by human time, which the Lord said Hell would be using from now on). With Beelzebub and Satan accompanying, he went to the farthest edge of Hell, where Lilith had taken particular pleasure torturing the Lord's brother.

The soul had barely any strength left, but he still struggled. "L'go me, y'sons'bitches," he slurred, trying to pull away. "I'kill'ya."

Lucifer was impressed; he had not helped Lilith torture this soul, a fact he was most glad of now that the Lord had claimed the Throne.

"Gently," Satan admonished Beelzebub. "If anymore harm comes to this boy, the Lord will not let Hell stand."

Lucifer shuddered. Lilith had been a tyrant, yes, but she was a known quantity, having been around since nearly the beginning, back when Lucifer and his brothers ruled as one entity. (To think, he had once loved her… he couldn't even remember what he'd seen in her.) The new Lord, though—he was completely unknown. Azazel had shared his plans only with his children, and now that they all were dead…

"We must go faster," Lucifer said. "Give the Lord his brother as quickly as possible."

Satan shot him a look. "If we go any faster, the soul might tear. Do _you_ want to explain that?"

Lucifer shook his head. He'd once been the greatest, and now he trembled at the thought of a human's anger.

"We left because we didn't want to kneel," Satan said, compassion in his eyes as he glanced at Lucifer. "We were hasty."

"The Lord will be different," Lucifer mused aloud, studying the soul in Beelzebub's grip. "Not like Yahweh, or Lilith, or even us."

Beelzebub rumbled, "I will stay with you, no matter what the two of you decide."

The soul muttered something that sounded like "Sammy."

o0o

Lucifer chose and stood with his brothers as the Lord cried, cradling a broken soul close, and Hell groaned. Slowly, slowly, the soul healed before his eyes, the Lord's power flowing through him.

Lucifer chose and stood with his brothers as the Lord announced to Hell's denizens, "This is Dean. Follow him as you would me."

Lucifer chose, standing between Satan and Beelzebub as Yahweh fell from the Heavens, the Lord of Hell taking his throne, and his brother at his side.


	83. a long enough timeline

**Title**: a long enough timeline

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from _Fight Club_.

**Warnings**: pre-series

**Pairings**: Azazel/OFC

**Rating**: PG13

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 360

**Notes**: for fleshflutter, on account of her birthday

* * *

There is a yellow-eyed child in the cradle. It is a soft creature of flesh and blood and bone, of malice and need and desperation.

She wants to leave it. It is not hers, cannot be hers. It is other—it is his, _his_ spawn, _his_ creation. Not hers. _Never_ hers.

It blinks up at her, makes a small cooing sound, a babble of nonsense syllables. Trying to lure her in, to trick and deceive her. But she won't give in; she won't fall for this _notchild's_ game, this interloper's deception.

There is a yellow-eyed child in the cradle, and it is not hers. It looks up at her with large eyes, waving tiny arms, spreading tiny fingers and closing them into tiny fists. It looks up at her, but it is not hers. Cannot be hers. Those yellow eyes gleam, revealing the truth of its father. This is not the child she carried within her, fed with her own energy and body. It must be a changeling, left by its father. Left in place of her own sweet babe.

It giggles, reaching for her. It giggles, looking soft and innocent, and she hates it. Loathes it. Wishes, with everything in her, to kill it. It will be a threat, once grown. Perhaps the greatest since its father. But she can do nothing. That is the deal, the devil-bargain she made.

She steps back from the cradle. From the child-shaped monster. Looks down and away, turning to leave. She will care for the yellow-eyed devilspawn. She will give it food and clothing and shelter. She will raise it, and one day maybe her own child will be given back to her.

There is a yellow-eyed child in the cradle. She leaves it, going to curl beside her husband.

_**There's a good girl**_, the child's father croons.

She flinches, burrowing under her man's arm, breathing in his scent. _**Leave me alone, **_she begs. _**I've done what you asked. I'll keep my end of the bargain**_.

_**Yes, you will**_, he murmurs; a phantom hand caresses her neck. _**You raise my heir and one day I'll return your daughter, your sweet little Mary. **_


	84. Vengeance

**Title**: Vengeance

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU after "Devil's Trap"; character death

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 765

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Kate followed them for over five thousand miles. She tracked them for months and visited them at the hospital, close enough to touch. She traced the younger's jaw and tasted the other's lips. And the one who killed Luther—she crept close and lightly touched his neck, closed her fist around it.

But she had self-control and all the time in the world. He would pay, but it'd be later.

She watched from afar as the hunters healed. They grew even stronger than they'd been, truly a sight to behold.

The father, Luther's murderer, left. She chose to stay with the boys—all he loved in the world, from what she'd learned.

Winchester, he'd said. He had a reputation, but so did his offspring, and their star was quickly rising. Soon, they'd eclipse him.

They would do nicely for her vengeance. She needed a new mate, after all, and the elder was quite beautiful.

o0o

A year after Luther died, she made her move. She surprised him in the hotel room while Sam was out for food. He fought better than any human she'd ever seen, even better than most vampires she'd known, but in the end it made no difference.

And in the room she waited for Sam. Dean would sleep and awaken hers, but Sam—he would die and remain so.

She snapped his neck after he entered the room.

o0o

For all her observations and research, all she'd learned about the Winchesters, she still failed to understand the basic components of Dean.

He woke and knew instantly what she'd done. He woke angry and fighting, and lunged for her. She wasn't prepared, couldn't be—and it took her almost a month to finally die.

Sam had been moved to an unmarked grave, but Dean found him. It was too late for any action but a resurrection spell, and Sam wouldn't be Sam in that case. He'd be a shell or a shadow—neither would his little brother. Neither would be Sammy.

So Dean burned his body and waited till all the ashes blew away. Then he started hunting.

o0o

He had eternity. He had a mission. He had instinct, strength, and training. He had supernatural senses and reflexes.

Most of all, he had rage and pain. Either, back when he was mortal, made him more dangerous than most things could cope with. Together, now—

Soon, he'd eclipse any predator that had come before.

None of it matters, though. Sam is gone, and Dad—his time has passed, but still he walks. The Yellow-Eyed Demon, Mom and Jessica's killer, died years ago, erased from existence once and for all.

As he told Sammy, there's always more to hunt, to fight, to destroy. But where he once enjoyed it, now it's a chore.

He clings to the shadows, watching the world turn. Some things change and some don't. He still hunts and wishes vampires could suicide. Nothing hunts him, though; even the worst of the worst fear him and won't dare.

o0o

The sun is bright in the sky and he stands beneath the full blaze. Humans have long since left, taking with them most of the evils, though a few remain. The planet has healed itself and returned to nature. He finds it peaceful.

He misses Sam. He misses Dad. He longs for the mission that once defined him. He misses his music and his car, and his little brother sitting shotgun, alive.

The sun burns him, but not enough. Nothing can kill him. He has forever and it will _never_ be enough.

The sun is bright above him and birds sing and it's been a thousand years. Kate had intended to punish his father, but Dad died when his truck flipped, before he learned what became of his sons. And Sam died too quickly to realize Dean's fate. (For that, Dean does feel some relief—neither of them knew.)

Dean alone suffered for her vengeance, and she never even knew how much.

Beneath the sun, the irony is not lost on him. Even the greatest predators nature has ever formed avoid him. He is stronger than he's ever been and alone with his regrets, and the most dangerous thing in the world.

Once, he couldn't see living past thirty, certain the hunting would kill him. He'd resigned himself to early death, made peace with it. He hadn't run from the reaper, hadn't even considered it.

And yet—here he stands, a thousand years later, dead but not, abandoned by every god there might have been. Alone. Everyone has left him, as he'd always known they would.


	85. promise not to stray again

**Title**: promise not to stray again

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Jacob's Dream" performed by Allison Krauss.

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He leaves at dusk, that last day, leaves Sammy behind in a fitful sleep. Bobby watches him go but doesn't speak, doesn't say _goodbye_ or _good luck_, or _you were a good kid, Dean, one of the best men I've ever known._

Bobby knows Sam'll hate them both when he wakes, but this isn't about Sam anymore.

-

Bobby makes some hot chocolate, wondering what Sam'll do once he's up. Go after Dean, that's a certainty. But what will he do once he's found him?

Because Sam won't wake until it's done, that Bobby knows. Dean made sure of it.

-

The sun rises and Bobby watches from the window. He waits for the Impala's roar—in vain. Dean's gone. There was no way out of that deal, no way Dean would take.

Sam stirs in the backroom.

Sunlight paints his yard, glinting off the car pieces. The dogs run around, playing and guarding, and Sam yells, "Dean!"

Bobby flinches. Sam storms through the house and out the door.

That day, Bobby doesn't do much but pray.

-

Dusk comes, then dawn, and still no sign from either of John's boys. Bobby knows they're both gone for good.

He wishes he'd said goodbye.


	86. Hunted

**Title**: Hunted

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Bloodlust"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1225

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She hasn't drunk human blood in over a century. She remembers its full, rich taste, the thick texture sliding down her throat; she recalls with longing the scent, the tangy, copper smell of life. She even remembers the feel of it, blood dribbling between her fingers as she played with the humans. And the sight—oh, the sight of the crimson blood of humanity! She could wax poetic about it for years.

But she has restraint and she learned, and she commands her pack to eat anything else.

And for a hundred years, so it was. She did not hunt humans, so they did not hunt her. Her pack developed jobs, lived in the human world. They drank cattle blood and they sampled human food, and if they weren't as strong as other vampires, at least they went unhunted.

But then a hunter started killing them. For no reason she could see, he tracked and murdered them. No one of her pack had sampled humans in over a hundred years!

And that, she knew, was the only reason he succeeded. They were weak, so weak—and he killed Christina. He killed William.

She had heard whispers on the night air of a hunter gone mad. One who killed and killed, for no reason other than he could. He followed packs from nest to nest, picked them off one by one. Rumors of his reasons circulated, but none knew the truth.

Not even a thousand vampires remained in North America and the hunters were slowly lessening the number. Some, she knew, believed them already extinct.

Her pack once had fifteen members. After she decreed no human blood, three ran at noon, together. And then over the course of a hundred years, the pack was whittled down to eight: Christina, Conrad, Eli, William, Isaac, Martin, Jocelyn, and her.

Then the hunter came and they were down to six.

She told Isaac, Martin, Jocelyn, Conrad, and Eli to lay low, to call in sick, to not leave their homes. Conrad told her he had to go to work, so with a heavy heart she sent him off. They'd lived in the town for twenty years and she knew it was time to move on. She catalogued all they'd accumulated, deciding what to keep, when Eli told her of Conrad's murder.

He and Isaac had followed the killers—three hunters—to a bar. Isaac was sticking to the shadows, still there.

Eli begged her to allow a kill but she commanded they wait and watch. "If they separate," she said, "pick one. Bring him here. Use all caution."

When they brought in the hunter, he was younger than she'd expected. Also, he seemed unafraid—no, more than that. He seemed weary, lost. But he had bravado and played a good game. She looked into his eyes and knew this was one hunter who could be trusted.

It had been her gift in life, the ability to look into souls. With death, it remained. So she had Eli and Isaac return him to his room, her show of faith.

She hasn't drunk human blood in over a century. She's wanted to, longed for it, even dreamt of it sliding down her throat, sating her, returning her to full strength.

And now the murdering hunter, the mad hunter, is tormenting her with the younger one's blood. She remembers the taste, and the scent is overpowering.

Human blood, life blood, _blood_…

Over a hundred years ago, she defeated the lust. She no longer needs human blood and she knows it. The mad hunter is trying to prove her to be a beast and the younger knows she is not.

She forces her teeth back and turns her head. "No," she whimpers. "No."

The mad hunter's disbelief is a tangible feeling and the younger's pride for her overcomes the scent of his blood.

They speak, the younger and the other, but she's too far gone to understand. He lifts her, easier than she lifted that box what feels like a lifetime ago. She is so weak. He carries her out of the house and sets her on the ground, looks over her wounds.

She hasn't drunk human blood in over a century.

He places his arm to her lips and says, "Drink. You need it. It's okay."

She looks up into his green eyes, full of kindness and life and an earnestness she hasn't seen in longer than she can remember.

"No." It's the hardest thing she's ever done. "_No_."

He lowers his arm and smiles. "Okay, Lenore," he says, and then stands. "I'm going to our car, alright? We have towels and water. I'll clean you up a little, find you some blood."

She settles onto her back and stares at the sky. It seems ages later when he returns and she doesn't move. He gently presses a towel to her wounds, sloshes water into them. She hears thuds and groans from the house and almost grins.

The other hunter. This one's brother. Danger.

The mad hunter hadn't a chance.

Lenore feels Eli and the others approaching. She shifts her head, catches the hunter's eye. "My pack is coming," she whispers, voice hoarse.

He licks his lips and glances toward the door.

"They won't attack you," she tells him, so quietly even she can barely hear it. He scoffs and raises the bottle of water to her lips. She sips and he slumps down next to her, waiting for the pack.

Isaac and Martin will be furious. Jocelyn will be barely restrained from entering the house and killing the mad hunter. Eli… well, Lenore remembers the brother's face when the mad one placed the knife to the younger's throat.

Eli strides out of the darkness, face full of fire. It hurts but she raises her arm—"Don't." Eli glares at the hunter and kneels beside her, lightly traces her jaw.

"What happened?" he snarls, eyes gentle and furious.

"Gordon," the hunter says. "Dean and I barely got here in time."

The rest of the pack melts into sight and Jocelyn growls, lunging forward to attack the hunter. Eli jumps to meet her, holding her back, and Isaac takes Eli's place.

"She needs blood," Isaac says, looking up at the hunter. Lenore follows his eyes and shakes her head.

"He offered," she tells her pack, proud of the hunter. "I refused."

Jocelyn calms at the words and Eli lets her go; she sinks to the ground besides Lenore and brushes some of the hair off her face. "How bad?" she whispers.

Lenore tries another smile but it falls from her face. "I'll heal," she answers.

The hunter stands and world slowly lightens around them. The sun touches her face and Eli picks her up, smoothly and gently. "We have her," he tells the hunter.

The hunter nods and they leave, slipping away to the woods. She glances back for an instant and the sun bathes him in light. He smiles and turns, stepping up the stairs and returning to the house.


	87. When Hope Dies

**Title**: When Hope Dies

**Disclaimer**: not my characters. just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for "Born Under A Bad Sign"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point of view**: first

* * *

I know where hope goes when it dies. I've been there before. First time, my momma didn't walk away after a car wreck; second, Daddy ate a bullet 'cause the loneliness was too much.

Third time I collapsed 'cause'a sobbing, that damned John Winchester told me his fuck-up got my Billy killed.

I know where hope goes when it dies, fluttering to the ground and gasping its last breath. I know how it feels when the world blinks around you and you don't know how you're still standing 'cause there's a hole where your heart used to be.

When John's oldest boy calls, Ash doesn't catch me before I fall, dropping the phone and screaming.

I know where hope goes when it dies. It's a sad, barren, cold place. I've been there before, but I live there now, 'cause John killed my Billy and now his sons killed my Jo.


	88. Hazel Eyes

**Title**: Hazel Eyes

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "The Benders"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 540

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

You wonder at random times, just a little flash of thought through your head. Where they are, how they are, what they're doing.

What they are.

Cousins? Probably not.

o0o

The Bender family is the case that makes your career. Over a hundred missing people's fates located, some horrific serial killers captured and locked away.

You never mention you had help. No one wants to ask. Everyone is too glad the psychopaths are locked away.

You never learn his name. His real name.

The taller was Sam. All you know to call _him_ is 'Greg'.

o0o

After, you never look at the world the same way.

You hadn't killed before. Shot someone, yes, but not _killed_. You don't regret it. You can't.

No—you _won't_. You don't know what that says about you, but he was a monster. A villain of the worst kind.

o0o

You think about him at night, 'Greg'. His hazel eyes, the eyes of liar, the eyes of someone desperate. He'd been sincere in his need to find Sam.

It was his responsibility, he told you. Sam was _his_ to watch out for.

From the beginning, you wondered if they were _really_ cousins. After, you wanted to look Sam up, see what else there was on file. Study him, his family.

You never did. You never will.

You prefer to wonder.

o0o

You _do_ regret not giving them a ride. From the way he was walking, 'Greg' had been hurt. Sam himself had been in a cage for two days, and then fought.

You watched him fight. It left you in awe.

Their little conversation after 'Greg' walked into the barn left you puzzled, wondering who—_what_—they were.

"Usual playmates"? Something tells you that you don't really want to know.

But you can't help wishing you'd seen 'Greg' in action. The way he moved, even before you knew he wasn't really a cop, spoke of… danger. Violence barely leashed, ready to act at any second.

He moved like a cat, like a fighter.

Sometimes, you wish you were a poet so you could explain better, even if only to yourself.

o0o

You miss Riley. The ache, the pain, doesn't fade with time. You miss his smile, his laugh, all the crap he gave you. You miss the way he'd call you up out of the blue to talk about the movie he saw last night or the girl he'd gone out with. You miss the way he'd make you whatever meal you wanted for your birthday.

You miss him. If that bastard was in front of you again, you'd kill him without a second thought.

o0o

Sometimes, you dream about that night. Things going a different way. Sam dying, or you, or 'Greg'.

Something about 'Greg' makes you wonder—what would he have done? If Sam had died, that desperate, dangerous man who begged you for help—

What would he have become?

o0o

You really wish you knew his name, but almost everything has faded from your memory.

Except… he had the most gorgeous hazel eyes. The eyes of a liar. The eyes of danger.

And you just wonder, sometimes—where are they now?


	89. Hunter

**Title**: Hunter

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Bloodlust"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 440

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

You realize your mistake the instant the knife touches his throat.

You've heard rumors of these boys, Winchester's sons. You even met Winchester once—he frightened you. He was dangerous, a true predator—and the stories say his sons are quickly following in his footsteps.

But it's been years since you spoke to Winchester and the memories have faded. You've forgotten most everything except the gruff tone of his voice and the glint of his dark brown eyes.

Neither of his sons, you notice, have his eyes.

You watched them in the bar and you recognized them for what they are: like calls to like, after all. And they are good, the best you've seen since their father. The younger, though… something about him makes you wary.

And the elder—oh, _yes_, like calls to like. He loves the hunt, loves to kill, and when he killed that vampire—his father flashed through your mind and a thrill of fear shot up your spine.

If you could get him away from Sammy, he'd become the best, you've no doubt of that. Because Sam—he sees all sorts of shades of gray, and hunters _can't_ afford that. And he's showing them to Dean.

So you cut Sam's arm and drop the blood on the bitch's face, and looking at Dean, you see you've completely fucked up.

His face… it's blanker than when he killed the vampire. But his eyes… are so cold you shiver. His hands are steady on the gun.

You tell him that if you'd wanted Sam dead he'd be on the floor already, and his eyes darken.

And Winchester, you realize, was _nowhere_ near as terrifying as his son.

In that instant, you know he wants to kill you. Wants to tear out your throat, carve out your heart, paint the walls ruby with your blood.

But he tries talking you down, tells you to let the bitch go, that she doesn't need to die. He mentions your sister, your baby sister, and you snarl the rest of the story.

And you'd have sworn his eyes couldn't freeze anymore but they _do_.

Dean Winchester is the scariest fucking bastard you've ever known.

And you really grabbed the lion by the tail when you so much as _breathed_ in Sammy's direction.


	90. the silence of the dead

**Title**: the silence of the dead

**Disclaimer**: not my characters, them sick Benders or the lovely Winchesters or poor Jenkins or Kathleen. Title from "Still in Saigon" by The Charlie Daniels Band

**Warnings**: spoilers for "The Benders"; mentions of incest

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 500

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He dies quietly, with no fuss, not much of a fighter at all. Abraham is disappointed. His boys let him down, pickin' this weak animal.

He'll just have to teach them better.

o0o

They take twins one night, a bitch and a boy, scrappy fighters that snap Jarrod's left knee and claw Lee's right cheek. Abraham smiles, watchin' his sons shove them into separate cages, the girl hissin' and the guy cursin' a storm.

"Hunt the bitch first," he tells Lee. "Make sure the brother hears her scream."

Lee's smile is vicious, just like Annabelle's used to be. Lord, does Abraham miss his bride.

o0o

Only one or two animals a year, never enough to really be missed. Daddy's daddy started it, and Abraham knows Lee'll continue it, Jarrod followin' his brother like he always has. And Missy, his lil'darlin'—she'll be for Lee what Annabelle was for him—mate and best friend.

His lil'darlin' reminds him more of Annabelle every day.

o0o

The first animal Abraham ever let Jarrod pick was that man in the parking lot with the trash—somethin' or other Jenkins.

There's always been somethin' off with Jarrod; Abraham's second son isn't quite right in the head. Jenkins is weak, so very weak. Not even worth a hunt, so Abraham leaves him to the boys.

o0o

The pretty cop'll be fun; it's been a long time since Abraham's known a woman's flesh, not since Annabelle. Maybe he'll even take her in front of that boy Lee chose—seems like the kind of man who'd hate that sort of thing.

Hmm… Lee's been a good boy lately. Maybe Abraham should give the boy to his son.

o0o

Abraham's cuttin' up meat in the kitchen when he hears his lil'darlin' shriek, "Daddy!"

Then the sound of fightin'—he recognizes Lee and Jarrod, but there's someone new.

There's someone in his house, threatenin' his family.

Abraham hasn't felt this angry since Annabelle died.

o0o

The man—and Abraham would love to sink into the stranger's flesh, to make him twist and beg and scream—is cocky and arrogant and angry and panicked, and Abraham wants him like he hasn't wanted a body since Annabelle.

Abraham tells him to pick which one they'll hunt and the man's eyes darken, but he picks the boy.

After the cop and the boy are dealt with, Abraham decides, he'll have fun with this cocky pup.

And he promises, in a tone that forces Abraham to believe, "If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you, I swear. I will kill you all!"

But Abraham is not frightened; they are on his land, his daddy's land, and nothin' can hurt them here.

There is a gunshot. Abraham calls for Lee and Lee doesn't answer.

The stranger's eyes gleam. Abraham tells Jarrod to follow him, leavin' his lil'darlin' to watch the stranger, and swears that after the cop and boy are dealt with he'll break the arrogant pup. Then he'll let his boys have a turn, and give those eyes to Missy.


	91. They were God's lie

**Title**: They were God's lie

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for "Lazarus Rising"

**Pairings**: none, really

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 300

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_It's been tried, _she says, flicking her hair.

_I know, _he replies, drumming his fingers on his thigh. _But I learn from mistakes._

She chuckles, no mirth in the sound. _If he failed—and the failure was glorious, no doubt of that—how sure are you of success?_

He grins, day-bright and winter-cold. _I will not go in on the attack. I will not mark myself with fire and death. _

Licking her lips, she studies him. _They require a deft touch. I've been at it for awhile. _

_I know, _he repeats. _I will take my time. _

She nods. _Patience is needed with them._ Sighing, she smiles dreamily. _The power between them… I still don't know why Above didn't swipe them years ago._

He shrugs. _They are marked. Perhaps Above doesn't want to sully their dainty hands._

She laughs, this time with glee. _I have missed you, Castiel. Your wit is always fun._

He smirks. _I'll see you. You go by 'Ruby' now, yes?_

Again she nods, pulling his head down to kiss his cheek. _I like this meat-suit. Keep it. _

He presses his lips to her forehead and watches her saunter out.

_Don't forget, _she calls over her shoulder. _Dean's at his most dangerous when there's nowhere to run, or he can't get to Sam. You'll be causing both._

_I remember_, he says. _I'm the one who carried his soul Out and shoved it into that rotting corpse. _

She pauses on the threshold. _Be careful, Castiel. There are so few of us left_.

He takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it. _I will be. And be sure you don't forget—even demons can get burned when they play with fire. The flame you court is brightest of all. _

She goes. After a moment, he follows, as he did from Above.


	92. in the dying of the year

**Title**: in the dying of the year  
**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.  
**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.2  
**Pairings**: none  
**Rating**: PGish  
**Wordcount**: 666  
**Point of view**: third  


* * *

_Castiel_.

He flinches.

_Little brother_, the voice croons, caressing and frightening in turns. _I thank you... but what are you doing?_

_As the Lord commanded, _he replies, turning in place, searching.

She fades into view before him, dark wings flared above her. _I think not, Castiel_, she says. _I think you wish to pay your debt, and my son is your tool in that quest._

_I do owe you a deep debt, _he says, holding his hands out in supplication. _You saved me from the Pit, from... Lucifer. The Lord commanded me to retrieve one pure soul, a martyr. He left the choice to me._

She steps forward, wings lowering to fold over her shoulders. She cants her head, clearly assessing his words. _You were a good boy, Castiel._ Her voice is soft, ancient. She was among the first, one of Lucifer's own sisters, back at the very beginning. _You were young. Every child should be given a chance to fail without consequence._

He waits.

_I thank you, _she repeats. _I understand that there is a plan I cannot yet fathom. I have not been one of your kind in millennia, long since lost from His grace. _Her gaze sharpens; he straightens to his full height, knowing again why she is still among the most feared. _My sons are part of this plan, Castiel. I do not approve, and I will have words with Him. You rescued Dean, when even I could not. You Raised him._

She touches his cheek with one calloused palm; he lowers his head for her gentle kiss. Into his mouth, she murmurs, _You will have to choose again, Castiel. He who shines Above... or He who reigns Below._

Castiel pulls back, meeting her gaze. _I cannot speak of such things! _he hisses in shock_. I am Arch. _

_Yes. _Her voice is gentle again, old and full of knowledge. Full of regret. _The time will come, little brother. Every angel will be offered a choice when the final Seal is broken._

_You know,_ he says. _About_...

She smiles. _I have always known, from the moment he first kicked in my womb. He is not a bane or a curse, Castiel. All things have their purpose._

He shakes his head, backing away, out of her reach. _Do not speak to me of this. I owed you a debt; I have paid. We are finished._

_For all your bravado and surety, you are still very young. You still think your Father and Creator has all the answers, that His plan is... what is that term? Ineffable._ Her laughter makes him shiver. _My sons are the future, Castiel. _

She nods to him serenely and smiles again. _You will choose. All must choose. _She vanishes as quickly as she came, one last sentence dangling on the air around him. _Castiel... I do thank you_.

He shivers, wishing with all his will that the Lord had not heard their conversation. Her words border on insurrection, and the Lord is not as forgiving of such a deed as He once was.

Castiel chose Dean because the Lord needed a pure soul. He chose Dean to repay a debt.

He hopes that choosing Dean will not prove to be a mistake, and that Dean can return his brother to the proper path.

If he cannot... the final Seal will be broken and the Beast walk free once more. The Beast, Lucifer, he who was once the most beautiful and beloved of all angels. The Beast, who tempted Castiel and nearly caused his Fall.

The Beast, locked away inside that human boy, Samuel, Dean's baby brother.

_Ah, Mariel_, he whispers. _What have you done?_

Her laughter echoes in his memory, vibrant and knowing. Plans within plans, twining and intricate, impossible to follow back to the beginning. How long has she had it in the works? He will probably never know.

He will have to choose, before the final Seal is broken and Lucifer erupts in Samuel.

He's already chosen Dean.


	93. let fall the sky

**Title**: let fall the sky

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.1; blasphemy? Slight AU.

**Pairings**: … um, none?

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 960

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_heatpain(letmego)furymalice(please)despairdesperation(Sammy)_

He was the Keeper of the Pit, Guardian of the Lake of Torment, and he took his job very seriously. He did not fraternize with any of the souls in his care; he merely carried out his duties as laid down by the Dark One at the beginning.

The souls begged, of course, every single one. They whimpered for mercy, for relief, for a drop of water on their tongues. But the purpose of the Pit was clear: punishment. Each soul made its own Hell and he simply enforced them.

For time beyond measure, the Keeper followed the Dark One's mandate, took no notice of any particular soul beyond the others. But then something new intruded into the Lake of Torment, something pure, something beautiful. This deep in the Pit, only the vilest of souls had ever fallen—only those who had been monstrous in life, true evil beyond reckoning.

But even through the murk, the Keeper could see this new soul was truly innocent.

He found this development most interesting.

The Keeper devoted the greatest part of his time to examining the new soul, letting his other duties slide. The soul only screamed one word: _Sam_. It never begged for mercy or pity, never asked forgiveness for its sins.

The Keeper thought this newcomer fascinating. It didn't feel guilty for its life above; peering into its memories, the Keeper saw no cause, nothing worthy of being in the Pit.

The soul made a deal Above, in life. It traded itself for its brother, the _Sam_ it screamed for. But that was no reason to be in the Lake—no, the deal had been done in love, so the soul should have gone AboveAbove, to the Bright One of diamond halls. How did it come to the Pit?

For the first time since his creation at the Dark One's behest, the Keeper left his duties and went to the throne. The Dark One's newest incarnation, Lilith of Lies, sat on the Dark Seat, and she smiled at his question.

"Ah, that soul," she purred, licking her lips. "He is my favorite." Her gaze sharpened on the Keeper. "He will stay where he is. Understood?"

The Keeper bowed his head and backed away, returned to the Pit. He watched the soul—now named male—writhe and whimper, but only ever say one word: _Sam_.

And the Keeper of the Pit, Guardian of the Lake of Torment, felt remorse for the very first time in his existence.

He brought a handful of water to the soul, dribbled it in his mouth. "Swallow," he murmured, the only word he'd ever spoken to anyone but his Liege.

The soul gulped it down, eyes unseeing. The Keeper knew whatever mind the soul once had, the Pit had swept it away.

"You are undeserving," he said softly, tracing one black claw along the soul's face. "You should not be here." He leaned in close, examining the soul's own personal Hell. Solitude—alone, but for large hooks, pulling him open, laying him bare. Spread over a chasm, no one ever coming for him. Pleading for _Sam_ to save him.

The Keeper brought him water, gently patted his flanks, softly ran a claw through his hair. Never before had the Keeper been so caught by anything—but this soul, so pure and beautiful, was a completely new experience.

Soon, Lilith summoned the Keeper and glowered down at him from her throne. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "We are Hell, the enforcers of horrific punishment. How dare you show kindness to the souls of the Pit?"  
The Keeper straightened his spine. He had been created by Sammael's command, just after the Fall from the Bright One's realm. He did not fear Lilith, though he must follow her word as unquestioned law.

"I was merely curious, Liege," the Keeper answered. "I had never seen a soul like his."  
Lilith stared at him before finally cackling. "He is unique, I'll grant you that. But leave him alone. Let him suffer."

The Keeper bowed his head and quietly returned to his Lake.

Despite Lilith's words, the Keeper still visited his favorite of all broken souls. He no longer gave water or touched; instead, now he whispered stories of his long existence, of the souls he had seen.

And then a Presence shone down on the soul who begged for Sam. Light from AboveAbove, from the Bright One's realm, engulfed him and the soul screamed.

The Keeper shrank back, shielding his eyes from the shearing glow. A deep voice chanted holy words and the Keeper moaned in pain.

After a long, terrible moment, the light and words faded, and the Keeper blinked at one of the Bright One's soldiers.

"I am here for Dean Winchester," the soldier said softly, but the words resounded off the Lake.

The Keeper replied, one last glance at the soul, "Take him. This is not his place."

The soldier smiled. "You will be rewarded," he said. "You have done well here, but the time has come for you to Rise." Holding out a hand, wings spread, the soldier offered, "Come with us." He gripped the soul—Dean, who screamed for _Sam_—and the Keeper stepped forward, reaching.

But then he stopped. "I was made for this," he said. "I must stay. But take him—give him back to Sam."

The soldier asked, "Are you sure?"

The Keeper nodded. "I am Hellborn, Son of the Bright One. I must stay here until all things end."

The soldier inclined his head. "I wish you well, little brother."

His light shone again, white-hot, and the Keeper looked away. When he glanced back, both the angel and the soul were gone.

The Keeper sighed in relief and returned to his duties.


	94. we play the final showdown scene

**Title**: we play the final showdown scene

**Disclaimer**: John, Dean, and Sam aren't mine. title from George Strait.

**Warnings**: takes place during season one

**Pairings**: OFC/OMC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 540

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: same 'verse as "last goodbye's the hardest one to say", chap 10 of this anthology

**Prompt**: Dean/OFC, happy ending

* * *

They met during a Friday rainstorm, she and the new boy. She was late and he was lost, and they had first period together. She showed him the way and expected to be forgotten in the shuffle, but he sat next to her at lunch.

When he and a gruff older man he called Dad saved her from Grandpa Malachi's ghost three weeks later, she honestly wasn't that surprised.

o0o

"I can't stay," he'd told her from the beginning. "We'll move on soon."

"Okay," she'd said.

If he'd wanted more, she would've willingly given it, but he never asked. They were friends, nothing more.

o0o

After he left, she sank into a depression she didn't crawl out of for three years. But by her freshman year of college, she'd found herself. She'd become a math teacher and live in the same town as her parents, and always wonder about him, that boy she knew for five months who saved her life. But she had dreams—to write a novel, to change the world—and he was gone.

o0o

She met Jake during the Fourth of July firework show. He had blue eyes and black hair and taught karate. He called her _Darlin'_. He was a good man, kind and funny, understood her horrible math jokes and held her in the night when Grandpa Malachi's ghost visited her dreams.

They married in the spring and adopted a son two years later. Jake, Danny, and her students were her whole world. She wrote half her novel before losing the thread and knew she changed the world by teaching the future. She honestly didn't want more.

o0o

She was twenty-seven when Jake died, killed by Donavan, Grandpa Malachi's father, a man she'd never even met. She took Danny and fled to her parents, but Donavan had already killed them, too.

When that boy she'd known saved her life again, she still wasn't surprised. A part of her had always expected to see him again.

o0o

He had a new partner, a tall man she didn't recognize, but his eyes were still the same.

"Stay down," he said; her head rang with the shots and she wrapped herself around Danny. Then his partner("Sam!" he yelled) carried both her and Danny out. Sam made a circle with salt and told her, "Stay inside."

She held her sobbing son and waited.

o0o

The next morning, a day after she'd become a widow and orphan, the two hunters took her and Danny back to a hotel room.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Dad and I really thought it was over."

She had no strength for fury or despair; she was just tired, so tired, and cold. She clutched Danny close.

"I missed you," she said. "For a long time."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Sam shifted uncomfortably and said, "I'll go get us some breakfast."

o0o

"Are you happy?" she asked. Danny lay beside her beneath the comforter and her twice-over savior sat on the other bed, a thick journal in his hands.

He looked at her for a long moment, and she saw that boy she met, lost on campus, soaked to the bone.

The door opened and Sam barreled in, bringing some of the lashing rain with him.

Dean grinned and answered, "I am."


	95. Heaven's afflicting thunder

**Title**: Heaven's afflicting thunder

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton(_Paradise Lost_, specifically. Appropriate, no?)  
**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.7  
**Pairings**: none  
**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 215  
**Point of view**: third  
**Notes**: I sat down to write my canon drabble; this came out instead. It's too much speculation for that series, but as a stand-alone? I like it.

* * *

So, this is the one. Tall, full of power, full of rage and pain, full of... love?

Castiel pauses, cataloging what all he had believed of Sam Winchester before standing in his presence. He knows Dean, and had known of Sam-everyone knows of Sam, but so few have been able to get near him...

Only Dean's proximity allows it now.

_And you think to let him live?_ Uriel asks, disbelief tingeing the words. _He is a threat to all we know, brother._

_I think, _Castiel responds, _that to kill him would be a far greater mistake than allowing him to keep the life that Our Father gave him_.

It is a small reproof, but Uriel flinches.

Castiel brings his focus back to Sam, who has begun to look uncomfortable. Castiel realizes he still holds Sam's hand.

It is not the hand of a monster, or of a savior. It is the hand of a human male who has worked hard, who is physically capable.

Dropping Sam's hand, Castiel glances at Dean. There is a warning in his eyes. Uriel says, _He believes he can harm us?_

_No_, Castiel corrects him, acknowledging Dean-the man he carried out of Hell, the only human he has ever considered an equal-with a nod, _he knows he can_.


	96. stare decisis

**Title**: stare decisis

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.7; AU; blasphemy

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 935

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: the title _means let the decision stand_. Satan means _adversary_.

**More** **notes**: I've been reading _Paradise Lost_. I think it shows in this ficlet; so, spoilers for that?

Summary: They are not rosy-cheeked cherubs; they are the smiting hand of God.

* * *

The Adversary steps into the room and Uriel's reaction is barely checked. _Peace, brother, _Castiel murmurs.

_He must be stopped_, Uriel hisses, all senses on the Adversary. _He is yet vulnerable to us._

_You know our orders,_ Castiel tells him, stepping up to the brother, to his special human. _We must wait._

_I think,_ Uriel begins, but Castiel cuts him off_. Do not, Uriel. You will border on insurrection._

Uriel subsides, but the Adversary speaks and Uriel cannot hold his tongue. He had been the Angel of the Sun, powerful and majestic, and the Adversary caused his demotion. He had been among the first and the greatest. No human mudmonkey, no matter what lay chained within, would speak to him so and go unpunished.

_Uriel!_ Castiel commands. _Desist. You know what Our Father has ordered_.

Uriel glares at the Adversary and the brother. This test is pointless, not to mention beneath him.

Castiel murmurs, _Remember Sammael's downfall_; Uriel flinches.

Pride had led the Morningstar to fall. Uriel had fought in the war, but Michael had been the one to throw their sinful brother from Heaven.

The Adversary's human sibling, Dean who Castiel carried from Hell, steps right up into Uriel's face. Even after the demotion, none had been so daring. His eyes are bright and dangerous—and familiar.

_Castiel?_ Uriel asks, unable to formulate the question, but his younger brother has always been intuitive.

_There is a reason Our Father had him pulled from Perdition_, he says softly. _There is a bigger picture than even our brothers and sisters can See, Uriel. _

Watching the mudmonkey brothers, Uriel cannot help but wonder, _Do they?_

_No, _Castiel answers. _Azazel_ _suspected, but until the end he remained unsure._

Uriel growls at the name. _I felt his death, but am not aware of how he died. He shielded himself from my Sight._

Castiel's amusement is a warm glow as the humans leave, determined to stop the witch. _Dean killed him, Uriel._ He turns to smile at his brother. _He used what the hunters call the gun the kills anything._

Uriel scoffs, not acknowledging his approval of Azazel's death. Killed by a frail human—a fitting end for the traitor_. No such thing exists._

Again, Castiel smiles. The expression hints at knowledge he still has not shared. _True_, he says. _The gun is merely a gun. But __**they**__ do not know that._

_Tell me what He has planned, Castiel._ Uriel has not felt so out of the loop since Gabriel returned to Heaven chortling about wide-eyed shepherds.

_No_, Castiel says gently. _All will be revealed. You will know when you must, and not a moment before._

_He is more than a man, _Uriel states, hoping for a hint. _Like his brother, the Adversary's shell_.

Castiel rolls his form's eyes. _Dean is Dean_, he says, gaze on Uriel. _And Sam is Sam. They were raised together, taught to protect and care for each other. They are a unit, entwined so tightly as to never be undone._

Uriel whispers in dawning comprehension, _Like Michael and Sammael before the Fall. _

Castiel's answering smile is sad. _There is a plan_, he says again. _We can do nothing but follow His command._

Uriel is unsure if his brother means Their Father or Dean—or the presence he now believes to be within Dean.

_And if the plan fails?_ he asks, uncaring how close to the line his question comes.

_Should that happen,_ Castiel says, eyes sharp, the shadow of his wings spread behind him in anger, _then all of us, from the mightiest Arch to the youngest cherub, will have a choice to make._

_Should that happen_, Castiel continues, voice gentling, _I know where my allegiance shall be._

_No matter what is in him,_ Uriel says, _he is still just a man. They both are. And men can be wiped from Creation._

Castiel laughs. _They have both Risen._

_Not without aid,_ Uriel argues.

_Sam was about to Rise on his own,_ Castiel tells him. _And Dean had almost found a way Out. They are more powerful than their frail bodies let on, and they will stay together to whatever end._

_He is the __**Adversary**__. _Uriel cannot get past that.

Castiel lowers his gaze, wings flexing, jaw clenching. _Yes_, he admits reluctantly. _He was the Morningstar, our most glorious brother, favored above all of Heaven save the Son. And now he is Samuel Winchester, a human boy only ever trying to do the right thing._

Uriel sighs. _I do not know what to do,_ he confesses. _I do not know humans but to punish them. And now that I learn—they are the final hope—and the final destruction. _

_Uriel, _Castiel says slowly. _I can take the knowledge from you, if you but wish it._

Uriel does not hesitate, does not second-guess.

_Do_, he says.

White light blinds him, so warm it burns. Castiel's voice echoes, _You will have a choice, Uriel. I pray you, like the rest of our brothers and sisters, make the right one._

The light fades and he is in a human park, watching mudmonkey offspring play.

_This is a waste of time,_ he says. _We should find that witch ourselves—and destroy both those humans. They know too much, and walk too proud._

Castiel's disapproving glance makes him Uriel feel all of twenty-thousand years old. _You know our orders, Uriel._

_Yes,_ he grumbles, settling back against the bench. _I just think—_

Castiel cuts him off with a curt, _Don't_.

Uriel glares at him but holds his tongue. He has the feeling he's missing something, but can't find the words to ask.


	97. Hell trembled at the hideous name

**Title**: Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton.

**Warnings**: um... AU? Spoilers for the fact that Dean went to Hell.

**Pairings**: none. Ish.

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 440

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

Dean... how long, you think, until they learn the truth? Until all your neat little secrets come barreling out? An angel, Dean. He'll smell it, sooner or later. They always do.

You've done a marvelous job so far, I grant you that. You're gifted that way. Like your mother.

Don't walk away from _me_, boy. Don't you dare. I didn't put you in Hell, or drag you out. But I could have kept you there.

Ah, now you see. Surprised, darling? I didn't think so.

You knew, Dean. From that very... first... moment. You tasted me on your tongue. Felt my skin against yours, smelled my fragrance on the sulfuric air. I am in you. I have always been in you.

You mother, sweet Mary... before she dealt with my flag-bearer, she dealt with me. And your father, too. He sold himself to survive that war.

War. Bah. Humans have no concept of warfare.

Your family, Dean, is almost as twisted as mine. Is it any wonder my kingdom felt like home?

I am in you. Ever fiber, every capillary, every drop of blood and sweat, every tear you've ever cried...

Och, don't look so sad, boy. I'm not telling you anything new, anything you didn't already know. You knew. Can't lie to me.

Can't lie to yourself, not anymore. You've been home.

And that angel, Castiel. One of the younger set, if I remember right. But Uriel... he was with me, at the beginning. Chose the wrong side, of course.

You know, that war? First instance of free will.

Uriel should have known. But like everyone else... he had eyes only for Sam Sammy. My heir, they say. The next big dude with hellfire and brimstone, with his little army of demons, and those nifty powers.

But you and I, Dean, we know better, don't we?

Your mother... I truly wish I could have kept her. Your father was fun for a bit, but so stoic. He refused to scream. Your mother cursed, your father stayed silent, but you?

Oh, you. You really are the best bit of fun I've had in millennia. Make me want to cry with joy.

I've completely lost the point, haven't I?

Ah, yes. Your lie. You should tell dear Samuel the truth, Dean. It's not like he's going to leave, or turn away... not after everything.

He is Azazel's chosen, Dean, not mine. But you knew that, too.

I'm in your blood and your bone, your past and your future. But more than that, son, I _am_ you.

Look in the mirror. Remember. Why do you think Hell felt so much like home?


	98. Addicted

**Title**: Addicted

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.  
**Warnings**: AU for pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica, implied Sam/Dean

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 830

**Point of view**: third

_

* * *

_

"_I fell in love with a dream. The dream seems to have departed long ago, but the memory of it is still here..." _Pericles—the horse, genius and poet— "Dream Done Green" of The Night Fantastic

* * *

Jessica Winchester knows there was something unnatural about the relationship between her husband and his brother, but Sam is an addiction she hasn't been able to shake since she was bright-eyed nineteen-year-old law student.

She'd bumped into him in a crowded hall, looked up, met his eyes, and was completely lost. Wholly, undeniably, forever drowning in him, in his scent, his touch, his voice.

And for twenty years she's been Sam's, in heart and soul and body, never denied him anything. She's his slave, his concubine—and she's happy, honestly she is. She has all she needs: a large house, three beautiful children, two cars, enough money to last five lifetimes. Sam's a successful attorney, on his way to being a judge.

She has everything she'd ever dreamed of, but it's not enough.

Because he doesn't love her. She knows it, certain beyond all doubt. When he kisses her, she knows he's dreaming of another. When he comes in her, she knows he sees someone else, painted on his eyelids.

Johnny, at fourteen, has asked her if she thinks Sam is having an affair. _No_, she replied, _I know he's not._

Johnny looked into her eyes and then shook his head. _Not physically, _her son replied quietly.

Jessica knows her oldest is more like his father than her.

The twins, Mary and Deanna, at ten are obliviously happy. They are happy at school and with their friends, always having playdates. Jessica oversees it all, pretends she's not dying inside every time her husband fucks her.

She doesn't call it 'making love', not since the first time she realized her husband made love to someone else in his dreams.

Sam has never physically cheated on her, that much she knows for sure. He doesn't realize what he does to her, that much she also knows. He isn't cruel or vindictive; he's trying to outrun something he'll never be able to escape.

Jessica didn't even learn of Sam's brother until a year and a half into their relationship. He never talked about Dean, never spoke of his family. Never mentioned his past at all, just the future and his plans.

She listened to everything he said, taking it all in, falling deeper in love by the second. She didn't question him, didn't ask. If he wanted her to know something, he'd tell her.

They moved in together after six months, and had slept together after four. She thought they were happy, moving into marriage and children and futures entwined.

She was right, after a fashion, she muses, sipping a daiquiri in her kitchen, and completely fucking wrong.

Sam had never been hers and would never be hers, not even if she lived to be a thousand. She can't compete with a dream.

And that's all Dean is, just a remembrance, an ideal that died when she was twenty-four.

He'd come and fetched Sam to find their father, and then returned Sam to her. The longing on Sam's face as he said goodbye to his brother should have clued her in, but it didn't. The wistfulness as he began relating childhood stories was another large fucking elephant, but she listened avidly instead, glad to learn anything of Sam the Boy.

She slams her glass on the table and lowers her head into her arms. _He's mine now, _she tells herself. _Dean's dead. He's mine._

But he's not. He belongs to a ghost, a ghost that haunts her and mocks her and laughs at her tears. Sam still loves his brother more than anything, and never loved her at all. Not like she wants to be loved.

"Mom," Mary laughs, coming into the kitchen and grinning at Jessica, "come see what Deanie did!"

They shouldn't have named their daughter after Sam's brother, Jessica knows, raising her head and smiling at Mary, but Sam was adamant.

"Okay," she answers, rising to her feet. The specter of her husband's brother smirks at her as she follows Mary down the hall.

It was unnatural and wrong and twisted and sick and beautifully fucked-up, the love her husband and his brother shared, and it didn't follow Dean into the grave. Jessica never hated anyone in her life as much as she loathed Dean Winchester, but one day, she knows, her addiction to Sam might run out. Might fade.

Until then, though, she can't leave him. She wouldn't be able to survive without his touch.

She feels Johnny's eyes on her and meets his gaze. _It's gonna kill you, Mom, _his eyes whisper before he turns and goes into his room. And as he shuts the door, he looks at her again. _Because Dad's gonna go to him and leave you alone._

Jessica shakes her head, brushes the tears off her cheeks, and laughs with her daughters as they clown around the living room.

Sam isn't hers, never has been, but—she's his. Body, heart, and soul. Enthralled too deep to ever leave.

She wishes she were still oblivious.


	99. freely they stood who stood

**Title**: Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell

**Disclaimer**: not my characters. title from Milton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four; possibly AU for angelic mythology

**Pairings**: vaguely implied Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 600

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_He looked at me with no fear, Michael. No matter what lies twisted within him, he is yet a man. How can this be?_ Uriel's voice is full of confusion, his face young-seeming.

Michael stares long at him, wondering how to answer. Uriel is one of his own, an Arch—a purifier and a destroyer, a punisher of men. Even the least-knowing, blindest of humans would turn from him in apprehension.

Michael finally speaks when Uriel has begun to fidget. _He met Lilith face-to-face and survived. After that, not much would frighten a body. _

_But I am of the Lord! _Uriel argues, indignation stealing him of courtesy. _I am no base demon, to be looked at without wonderment and fear! _

_Does Castiel feel so? _Michael asks, after giving Uriel a moment to repent his rudeness.

_I no longer understand Castiel,_ Uriel says quietly_. He has… changed. He touched the tainted human, and… _Uriel pauses, lowering his gaze from Michael.

_And what, Uriel?_ he asks gently. He already knows, felt it the moment Castiel strayed, but Uriel must comprehend for himself.

_I believe he looked at the brother with lust, Michael._ Distress colors the words as he asks, _But that cannot be, can it? He is ours, one of us. He knows better_.

Michael sighs. _Castiel is still ours,_ he answers. _But he has strayed slightly from the path._ Michael rests one hand on Uriel's shoulder. _I need you to watch over Castiel, to keep him from straying any further. _

_As you command, _Uriel replies, bowing his head and taking to the air.

_Do you think that will be enough?_ Gabriel asks, settling next to him.

_It is in Our Father's hands_, Michael murmurs. _Castiel still has time to repent_.

Gabriel looks at him; Michael sees pity on his face_. I met the brother, that soul taken from Hell at Jehovah's command. _

_Gabriel!_ Michael hisses, shocked at his brother's daring to speak the Lord's holy name.

Gabriel continues, uncaring_, I fought a thousand demons to ensure Castiel's success. I met that soul, Michael. I have only met a single soul like his in all my existence, when I spoke to a virgin maid._

Michael stares at him. Gabriel smiles sadly, looking out over Heaven. _Yes, it is in Father's hands, _he says. _But I doubt that Castiel will repent. _

_Neither of them, _Michael begins, searching for the words. _Neither of them fear us._

_Dean did,_ Gabriel tells him. _Until he met Uriel. Now, he holds no fear or respect for our kind at all._

_And Samuel? _Michael asks, nearly choking on the name.

_Samuel…_ Gabriel thinks for a moment and Michael waits impatiently. He is the highest of all angels, commander of the Arch. He should know anything Gabriel does, and it bothers him that he does not.

_He prayed, Michael. He prayed every day. Now, he prays no more because he met what he'd been praying to_. Gabriel looks him in the eye. _No, Michael. He feels no fear of us, or of Our Maker._

They stand in silence, the two highest, on Heaven's perfect street. It is beautiful, marvelous, the truest pinnacle of creation—Michael cannot comprehend wanting more.

Gabriel murmurs softly_, Sammael nearly pulled you down with him._

Michael flinches. It has been eons since he thought of that day. _Yes_, he answers. _Our Maker saved me._

_Have you ever pondered what would be now if He hadn't? _Michael flicks a glance at Gabriel, but his brother continues staring at Heaven.

_You skirt danger, Gabriel_, Michael tells him.

Gabriel smiles, replying only_, I have met that soul_.


	100. one fateful tree there stands

**Title**: One fateful tree there stands

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four and _Paradise Lost_

**Pairings**: some vaguely implied Dean/Castiel and Gabriel/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 405

**Point** **of** **view**: dialogue!drabble

* * *

Brother. Why do you doubt?

_He is beautiful. I never stood in the Garden, but he reminds me of Paradise._

Castiel. The Maker gave you that task to reward you.

_I know. It was an honor to pull that soul from Perdition. I should not offer Father questions, but I find…_

I know. I have stood where you stand, little brother. I was there at the first meeting Sammael ever called. I heard his first argument, and I rejected his words. I fought for the Father, against our brothers.

_I fought, too, Abdiel. I never contemplated Sammael's argument. I believed true in the Father and the Son, and I followed His word. He has always been my unquestioned law._

And now?

_I… do not know. That soul, that man, Dean Winchester… he asks questions and demands answers, and the Father has not struck him down for insolence._

He is human, Castiel. It is his right to question, as we the firstborn never can.

_Does that not seem…_

Unfair? You skirt the same path Sammael took.

_Sammael, Lucifer, Satan—why does he have so many names, Abdiel?_

I am unsure. Perhaps to show how he fell, to show Father's favor left him.

_He has a final name, now. I have stood in his presence._

Did you hold firm?

_He touched my hand, Abdiel. I was disgusted. Uriel wished to strike him down right then, but I—_

You what, Castiel?

_I followed our Maker's orders to follow Dean's commands. Dean is unlike any human I've ever met. He… he inspires in me a need to learn more._

Keep your faith, Castiel. Do not falter. Dean is Chosen, like Moses and Elijah and Paul. But, like those who came before, he is only a man. Do not let him sway you.

_And Samuel?_

He can yet be saved. He has rejected grace before, but now he has Dean to show him the way.

_Abdiel… what if I…_

Castiel. You are one of the firstborn. He is descended of a taint, and bloodkin of our Adversary. Do not.

_Yes, Abdiel. As always, your counsel is wise._

Speak to Gabriel, if you must. He was tempted once, by the Mother. But he held strong and followed Our Creator's command.

_I will._

Castiel… He granted you a high honor. Do not let that honor lead to your fall.

_I shall seek out Gabriel now._

God's grace to you, Castiel.

_And you, Abdiel. _


	101. Supernova

**Title**: Supernova

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 420

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Her eyes are dry, but there's a burn behind them, and there's a hum in her bones, beneath her skin, and her voice is so raw, so weak, but she can't stop screaming—

And his brother is holding her close and begging anyone, any_thing_, for Sam to be alive again, to be out of the apartment, out of the fire, but no one's listening and she can't stop, can't sleep, because he's gone.

_He's gone_. He's gone, gone, gone—his brother stole him away, but returned him, and something was waiting, something had _always_ been waiting, and no one could have fought it.

His brother is squeezing her too tight, and his voice is just murmur she can barely make out over the sirens and the crowd, and she realizes one of them _has_ to be strong, for Sam. Only one of them can break, and she may be Sam's soul mate, but his brother always came first, so she'll remain firm and shatter to a thousand pieces later, because someone has to hold Dean up.

So she calms and threads her fingers through his hair and answers the questions, shivering underneath the blanket someone threw over her. Dean's still holding her, and she doesn't think he'll ever let go. Distantly, she understands; it's the same reason one of her hands is still clutching his jacket.

Sam's gone. He'll _never_ come back. Dean's as close as she'll come, this life. And she's all he's got left of Sam.

Her eyes are dry, but Dean's aren't. Her voice is hoarse, raw; so's his. And beneath the pain, the fear, the shock—she feels rage building. A need to hunt, to maim, to rend.

And she knows that just as soon as Dean wakes up from his grief, his fury will be righteous, a sight to behold, something to tremble before.

As soon as she's shattered and pieced back together, she knows Dean will hunt. He leans into her, and she also knows she'll go with him.

The fire still burns in their apartment. The fire inside her burns even hotter, and she knows a supernova was just lit inside Dean.


	102. November

**Title**: November

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica, Jessica/Dean

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 860

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Forever after, she'll equate November with fire.

o0o

For weeks, she's afraid to be alone. Dean gets them a hotel room and goes shopping for clothes; Sam just holds her, lying on the bed, rubbing circles on her back, muttering nonsense in a soothing tone.

They don't treat her like a child and they believe her when she describes what attacked her.

Eventually, though, Sam has to return to his job and school. That's when Dean stays with her. She watches him sharpen knives and clean guns, watches him research on the internet and through books, listens to his voice and studies his face when he calls people.

She loves Sam more than anything, but his brother is fascinating.

o0o

Finally she feels ready to rejoin the world. It's been three months, two weeks, five days, seventeen hours, and twenty minutes. She'd count the seconds, but they pass too quickly.

Sam goes with her to the first class, stays for half, and then has to hurry to his.

Dean is there when it's over, strong and steady, with a quick grin and kind eyes. He walks with her across campus, quietly asks about the class and teacher and people she used to know. She answers and gets him to laugh, and she _knows_ she loves Sam, wonderful Sam, but she's falling for his brother and it _hurts_. It kills her, deep inside, this betrayal—

And Dean leaves her at the door with a smile.

o0o

They eat lunch together, the three of them, and she can't look either in the eye. She leans away from Sam and ignores Dean; she knows it isn't fair, that they've only been amazing to her, gone above and beyond the call of duty—

But _none_ of this is fair. She doesn't blame Sam, is certainly aware it wasn't his fault, but her darkest thoughts in those dark days wondered. About Sam, about his past. And then Dean—_nothing happened_ until he showed up at the apartment.

What if he led it to her?

But she glances up from her chicken sandwich and Dean's eyes are hurt, such a kind hazel—and Sam is lost, she can see it on his face, written in his brilliant green gaze. _What did I do wrong? _he asks her silently. _I'm sorry._

So she starts talking about the test next week that she isn't ready for, and _Won't you help, Sam? _And then she turns to Dean and says, _Maybe you can show me what's so cool about that engine you won't shut up about._

o0o

On November 1, she rolls over in bed and looks at Sam's face. His eyes are wide open and don't move from her. _You okay? _

She nods shakily and presses in closer; he wraps his arms around her, kisses her forehead. _I love you, Sam, _she whispers. _I love you, I love you, I love you. _

_I know, Jess, _he responds. _I know. _

__

o0o

On November 3, Dean sharpens a knife and Jessica leans from behind him and kisses his lips. He freezes and goes to pull away, but her arms come around him and he doesn't want to hurt her.

_What are you doing? _he asks and she shrugs, pressing in closer, harder, mouth demanding against his.

_I don't know, _she mutters, and Sam is due home any minute, but she doesn't slow down at all.

Sometimes, she's thought they should have let her burn. Now she knows it's true. But she _wants, _she wants to so _much_—

And from all of Sam's stories, Dean knows only how to give.

o0o

Dean can't look at his brother and Jessica can't look away. Sam glances from one to the other and sighs, shakes his head, and goes to take a shower.

Jessica follows. Dean resumes sharpening his knives.

She won't speak first and Dean won't speak till forced, and Sam will always look away.

November is fire and betrayal.

_In the end_, she wonders, kissing Sam's neck while the hot water beats down on them, _who will leave first? Which of you will walk away?_

They should have left her to burn.


	103. the killer in you has gotten out

**Title**: the killer in you has gotten out

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.9

**Pairings**: mentions of Sam/Ruby

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 425

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"Hiya, Ruby."

She raises an eyebrow. "What do you want, Dean?"

"So, I got to thinking," he says, slowly circling her. She turns in place to follow him, knowing she can leave anytime. It gives her a measure of comfort. "I owe you for saving Sam, keeping him alive." He spins on his heel to glare at her. "But you fucked him. You got him at the most vulnerable time of his life."

Ruby scoffs. "I helped him when you were gone, that's all."

He laughs. "You love him." Dean cants his head to the side, studying her, and her meatsuit shivers. "He'll never love you. And I wonder…" He bites his lip, anger in his eyes. "If I told him what you did in Hell, how do you think he'd react?"

She freezes in place, staring at him in horror. "You know?" she whispers, fear tumbling through her, telling her to flee before it's too late.

His smile is completely humorless. "I remember everything." He steps forward, hand outstretched.

Ruby tries to lunge back but can't move.

"I always wondered," he says, "how demons got their powers. After you told me they'd been human, I started thinking." His eyes are sharp, his gaze biting. "I'm too young to be much of a threat to the old ones, to Lilith and Alistair and their generation." His tongue fumbles on the second name and Ruby shudders. She remembers well that demon. "But you?"

She gasps, hands going to her throat as the body starts convulsing. "It's in the blood, Ruby." His face is emotionless as she falls to the meatsuit's knees. "You helped Sam unlock his."

"Please," she gasps. "He still needs me." It hurts worse than when Lilith cast her out, burns and sears. "I can still help!"

He laughs coldly. "You helped unlock his demon-given abilities, _Jane_," he hisses, her human name a slur. "But mine were torn wide open in Hell."

Awareness is leaving her. She had told Sam he was exorcising them back to the Pit. But that was just one of a dozen lies.

"Please," she gasps again. "Dean."

"Hush, sweetheart," he murmurs, one hand brushing hair off her face as he kneels next to her. "You did well, caring for Sammy till I came back. But I'm here now, amped up and fully charged. He's got no more use for you."

Her true form billows out of the girl's mouth and she feels pieces of her dying. The last thing she sees is Dean's eyes, hazel bleeding to golden.


	104. Menagerie

**Title**: Menagerie

**Disclaimer**: Jessica, Sam, and Dean aren't mine. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for pilot

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 400

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Jessica locks every door and window in her house. She lives alone, with four dogs, two cats, and one parakeet. Salt lines circle her property; she adds to them every day.

She does not speak to anyone except the animals. She does not leave her property. She never answers the phone.

Her brother, Alex, brings her all the necessities once a month. He is the only one the dogs don't snarl at. He always gives her a smile, hug, and kiss; it's over a year before she doesn't flinch away, even though he's her big brother and would never hurt her.

The two wolfhounds, Artemis and Ares, stand guard outside and never come in. The husky, Tybalt, is the most affectionate. The malamute/wolfhound mix, Enkidu, is the most terrifying. But all love her and listen only to her.

She likes to think it's Sam's last gift, but she never focuses on that long.

The tortishell queen, Isis, sleeps in bed with her, purring through the night. The Mau tom, Seth, sleeps wherever he wishes, but always greets her in the morning.

And the parakeet, Esperanza, always makes her smile.

This is her family now. The only ones she ever speaks to.

Looking back at who she used to be, that bright-eyed girl with a glorious future—

She regrets. She regrets so much.

On November 2, the fourth since the first, she slides down the wall and sits. Ty and Kid rush over; Kid just settles next to her and Ty licks her hands, clenched in her lap. Isis pads up to her and climbs into her lap while Seth lays down on her other side. Esperanza starts singing.

Jessica leans down and buries her head in Ty's back, sobbing. She doesn't say anything, can't; they all just wait, like they have before.

The phone rings. She knows who it is and she does not pick up.

He's not Sam. He hasn't been Sam since November 2, when his eyes turned yellow and Sam's brother yelled at her to leave.

Isis purrs. The phone keeps ringing. Esperanza sings.

She still doesn't know what happened to Dean.


	105. Broken

**Title**: Broken

**Disclaimer**: Jessica, Sam, and Dean aren't mine. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for pilot

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica, Jessica/OMC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 945

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He is broken, now. She watches and waits for him to heal, to repair the damage inside him. She visits daily and sits beside him and tells him about her day. Speaks of their friends and her job and the classes he's missing. She lightly traces his jaw, softly kisses his lips, and whispers goodbye in his ear.

He never responds.

o0o

A year passes and there is no progress. Slowly, she visits less and less. She is young, with her life ahead of her. No one blames her for giving up.

When she dreams, they are memories of the days before and she wakes with tears in her eyes.

o0o

That night, she should have fought harder. She knows that, now. She should have made him stay. With her mind, she knows that to be impossible. The man he was, he could not turn aside from his brother, could not refuse that one request.

Her heart tells her that she never had him, anyway. And his brother would always have come.

o0o

Two years pass and she sees him only once a month. She tells him she's met someone else, someone he'd like. A great guy named Daniel. She tells him that they have a date on Friday, that she's graduated with honors, on the way to her dreams.

He does not look at her. She hasn't seen his eyes since his goodbye.

o0o

She is young, with a life ahead of her. She remembers their time fondly, knows she'll always love him.

She cannot help but wonder what happened. Or where his brother is.

o0o-

The police told her they found the Impala mangled, crushed against a pole. He sat shotgun, but there was no one else in the car. His father and brother could not be reached, and there was no one else.

His hospital bill is paid, and everyone's looked, but no one can find out by whom.

o0o

Four years pass. She marries Daniel and only looks back when she dreams.

o0o

Six years after, he vanishes from the hospital. She's caught up in Lizzie, their oldest daughter, and Greg, their son. There isn't much search for him, but she wonders, sometimes.

Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she sees him, tall and strong, green eyes bright with love.

o0o

And ten years later, when she's all but forgotten him, his brother appears at their door.

His smile is gentle, but with a razor-edge, and his eyes—though beautiful—are hard. "Sammy loved you," he says, and she can't make out his tone. It isn't menacing, or cold, or nice—some mix of the three. "So I just thought I'd check up on you, see what you've been doing since abandoning him."

She's tossed back into being twenty-one, lost in confusion, bewildered by this man. "I didn't abandon him," she chooses to respond. "I just…" She can't think of how to finish the sentence, and his smile hurts her.

"You gave up. I didn't," he answers, leaning in and whispering in her ear, "And he got better, Mrs. Monroe."

She pulls back with a gasp, eyes wide. His smile is sharp and dangerous, and she notices, wondering why she hadn't earlier, that he hasn't aged a day. "He always would have gotten better, if you'd bothered to hang around and watch."

Lizzie, Greg, and Naomi, her children, walk down the block and he looks over. She follows his gaze and her heart almost stops. Sam is there, leaning against that blasted Impala, alive and beautiful and grinning like nothing's ever been wrong.

"What?" she asks, looking back at him, and his eyes gleam with something she can't name.

"He knew you'd probably forgotten him, Jess," he says, never looking away from her eyes. "And neither of us has an explanation for what happened. It's been sixteen years since you knew him, after all." He leans down and softly kisses her cheek. "It's better this way."

He pulls back and she has a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but what comes out is, "He's happy?"

Dean looks over at Sam and she watches as his entire bearing gentles. "He is," Dean whispers and walks toward his younger brother without a glance back.

Jessica follows Sam with her eyes as he gets in the car and Dean drives away.

Lizzie and Greg pause by her, but Naomi continues into the house. Jessica ruffles Greg's hair and smiles at him; content that all is well, he follows his little sister. But Lizzie stares up at her, dark brown eyes concerned.

"Who were they, Momma?" she asks.

Jessica smiles again, this time far more sadly. "People I once knew," she answers and pulls her daughter into a hug.

o0o

Sam has always been secretive. Jessica knows there's things she'll never understand.

A year passes with no improvement and no one can blame her for giving up.


	106. tears such as angels weep

**Title**: Tears such as angels weep

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton.

**Warnings**: AU for 4.10

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 740

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Castiel does not wish to fight Dean. Uriel is pleased by battle, no matter who the battle is against, but Castiel is not a warrior who enjoys war. Dean, his brother, and the demon will protect the girl to the death, and only Dean is not to be harmed.

Uriel attacks the moment Sam says they can't have Anna. He goes straight for Sam and the demon meets him halfway. Uriel reaches into the vessel and drags the demon out, destroying it.

Sam tries to pull Uriel away and he slaps the abomination down. Dean growls and punches Uriel; Uriel's human body loses balance, hitting his knees on the floor.

Castiel does not wish to fight. He must follow God's word. He saved Dean from Hell, he has spoken with Dean, he has admitted to Dean things unspoken to his own brothers.

Uriel rises and grips Dean around the neck. "I can't kill you." Uriel holds Dean aloft. "But I can take you out of the game."

Dean struggles, while Uriel places a hand to his brow, sending him to sleep.

"Dean!" Sam yells from the ground, fear making his voice sharp.

Uriel turns to him. "I told you, demonspawn—the instant you become more trouble than you're worth."

Castiel has followed God's word from his beginning. God has commanded Anna Milton die; she is a danger to the war-effort, and she will ascend straight to Heaven.

Uriel advances on Sam, who leaps to his feet, hand splayed outward—trying to use his demon-given ability.

Castiel closes his eyes for a moment before saying, _Goodbye, Father_.

He leaves the human body, the devout man who prayed to be a boon to God. He attacks Uriel from behind, taking him by surprise. _Castiel!_ Uriel shouts.

Uriel is older, more powerful, one of the greatest of the angels. But Castiel is desperate, and as he weeps, he kills his brother.

"What?" Sam gapes. "What just happened?"

Castiel returns to the man Dean deemed a holy tax-accountant. "We must gather Dean and Anna, and flee somewhere safe."

Sam crawls to his brother, lifting Dean's head. "Dean!" he says, looking warily at Castiel. "Dean, wake up!"

"He will remain asleep for some time," Castiel tells him. "Fetch Anna Milton—we must go."

"Where's Ruby?" Sam asks, standing.

Castiel says, "Uriel destroyed her."

Sam looks sad at the news, but Castiel has greater worries. "I am taking Dean somewhere safe." He stares up at Sam. "Get the girl and bring her, or come with me, or stay here and be purified."

"Wait," Sam says, striding through the cabin. He returns with Anna at his side. She glances at the bodies and then meets Castiel's eyes. "Thank you," she says softly.

Castiel looks away. "We must leave by air," he tells Sam. "If we stay on the ground, they will be able to track us."

Sam scoffs, kneeling by Dean. "You expect to carry us all?"

"I can transport this body and Dean with ease. Anna will be no hardship." Castiel pauses, letting the words soak into Sam. "But you—you are tainted."

Sam's flinch is small but Castiel notices. After a moment, he says, "Take them. I'll get the car and lose the demons, then meet up with you somewhere."

Anna speaks up with, "My parents have a cabin in the Appalachians."

Castiel nods. "That will do." He settles at Dean's side opposite Sam. "When you leave, take Uriel's human with you. He will be fine by tomorrow. After you are gone, I will purify this building, to erase what happened here."

"Okay," Sam agrees. Anna tells him the address of her parents' cabin and he commits it to memory.

Sam touches Dean's cheek, traces his jaw, lightly rests his hand on Dean's forehead. Then he stands. "Take care of my brother," he tells Castiel.

The threat is plain. "I will." So is his promise.

Anna gasps. "A flight of angels is coming!" she cries.

"Go," Castiel says to Sam. "We will meet again in the mountains." It is his first lie.

Sam grabs Uriel's human by the shoulders, dragging him out. Once he's at a safe distance, Castiel touches Dean's cheek. "I will pray for your forgiveness," he tells Anna, looking up at her.

She laughs. "Who'll you pray to? I heard you've fallen."

Castiel grips Dean tight and takes wing, leaving a purified piece of ground in his wake.


	107. the play of light on bright stones

**Title**: the play of light on bright stones

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denise Levertov.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 325

**Point of view**: third

* * *

Castiel has seen him broken, tainted beyond purity, as the plaything of the darkest being in the pit.

Castiel has seen him so low there is nowhere left to fall.

Castiel still sees him as beautiful.

o0o

Uriel does not like Dean or his brother. He can barely stand being in the same realm as them.

Castiel, however, finds them fascinating. He has always been curious of Their Father's favorite creatures, His special children. They are so vibrant and young. Whenever he is on their plane, he cannot look away.

Uriel would turn them all to dust, if he had his way. Castiel cannot fathom it.

o0o

Castiel gripped Dean's soul tight, shoved it back into his rotting corpse, and healed him. He restored Dean to life, erasing all flaws and scars. He watched Dean fight his way out the grave and stumble into town.

He watched Dean force down the memories and marveled at humanity's resilience.

o0o

Castiel saw him in the pit, tearing open another damned soul. Castiel saw him shattered; with His Father's grace and tender forgiveness, Castiel pieced him back together.

And now Castiel cannot look away.

o0o

_Take care, Castiel_, Uriel told him. _Be careful you do not stray_.

Castiel had no reply.

o0o

Castiel has seen him broken. Castiel has seen him in the pit, torturing others with a glee that can only be termed unholy. Castiel has seen him fallen so low there is nowhere else.

Castiel has seen Dean at his darkest, most twisted moments—and Castiel is the one who returned him to the light. Gave him back hope for redemption.

Uriel cannot stand to be near Dean or Sam—especially Sam—but Castiel wishes he never had to leave.

They are fascinating, so vibrant and so young, and he wants to understand them better. How can that be a sin?

_Castiel, _Uriel cautions. _They are sinful beings. They are impure and fallen. _

And still, Castiel does not look away.


	108. intricate spun web

**Title**: intricate spun web

**Fandom**: "Supernatural" with a dash of various mythologies

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season three

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 265

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"Ah, little trickster, tired of playing with those boys yet?" She raises a dark eyebrow at him.

He ducks his head. "I went a bit far, I admit. But my reasoning was sound!"

She scoffs. "Well, come on in out of the cold." She steps back from the door and he shuffles in, shaking off snow. "You should've known better, Coyote's son. Those boys weren't meant for the likes of you."

He glares at her for a moment before the scent of cocoa catches his attention. "Ooh," he says. "For me?"

She laughs. "I made enough for two, boyo."

He grins, loping past her to the kitchen. "Chocolate is one of my very favorite things, Mama."

She smacks his shoulder with her wooden spoon. "Respect me, boy. Your daddy is comin' to supper next week."

He blanches. "Aww, man. What for?"

She hands him a mug of cocoa. "Just a couple of old friends catching up." She smirks. "I think we'll talk about Azazel's kids a bit."

He sighs. "I was just trying to teach Sam a lesson, is all. He needs to learn to live without Dean."

Her smile is knowing. "But that time will pass swiftly, little trickster. Dean won't be gone for long."

He stares at her, sipping his cocoa. It burns his tongue. "What do you know, Perkune Tete?" he asks softly.

She chuckles and tosses him a bag of marshmallows. "I know that Morrigo has her favorites and Aniketos can never die."

"Oh," he breathes. "Mama, you weave quite the web."

Her laughter booms out, shaking the house like thunder.


	109. Five Times Bella Talbot Feared

**Title**: Five Times Bella Talbot Feared for Her Life(And the One Time She Was Right)

**Disclaimer**: Bella, Gordon, Bobby, and the Winchester boys aren't mine; just for fun.

**Pairings**: none

**Warnings**: AU for Bella's backstory and fate

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1646

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: "Thibodaux" is pronounced "Tib A Doe"

**More notes**: thanks to pheebs1 for help with the Brit-speak!

**Still more notes**: I know her name is spelled "Bela" according to the CW, but I am incapable of spelling it that way in the story, sorry.

* * *

_Six_

Mum isn't here, off with Mr. Gregor, and Bell is wandering the manor at will, peeking into all the forbidden rooms. Victoria is with Carl and won't be back until tea time. So Bell is alone, in a house full of servants with better things to do than follow her around, and her curiosity is eating her alive.

_Stay out of the rooms with shut doors, little poppet, _Mum's told her more than once. _There's no telling what could be hidden back there, in this drafty old place._

Mum's never been as adventurous as Bell, Dad said before he left on business. Takes after the Talbot's, she does, his little hellion(Mum fussed at him, but Bell giggled, demanding he swing her around).

Bell goes up the stairs to the third floor, to the east wing, a place she's never been before. She's lived in the manor her entire life, but never been here. It's thrilling and she hums to herself, keeping up her courage.

Something groans behind a door and she turns. A long, dark hallway stretches before her and she slinks backwards a bit. But no one's there.

"He-hello?" she calls, leaning against the wall.

There's another noise and she swallows. "Come out now," she orders imperiously, letting Mum's example lead her.

The closest door opens by itself and her courage deserts her. Bell screams and whirls, running as fast as she can down the hall, flying down the stairs(it's a miracle she doesn't fall and break her neck), and out the manor, pausing for breath only once she's standing in sunlight.

She never sets foot on the third floor again.

* * *

_Thirteen_

Thibodaux, a stallion Dad bought from the States, is wild and fierce, and Dad would never let Belinda on if she asked. So she doesn't.

Dad's in Nice on business and Mum's traveling Europe with her sister(and Mr. Gregor, but Belinda isn't supposed to know that and adults need to keep their secrets), so Victoria's in charge. She's arranging supper, her attention captivated by Carl's newest concoction(or possibly something else about Carl, but they're _old_, so Belinda doesn't like thinking about that), and Belinda simply slips out to the stables and watches Thibodaux pace in his stall, snorting and tossing his head. Poor boy is bored out of his mind, she bets.

He's a gorgeous creature, a blue roan thoroughbred and seventeen hands at the shoulder. Belinda fell in love with him the moment Dad brought him home. Mum called him a nasty beast(she's never been a fan of anything bigger than a cat), and Dad defended the purchase by saying they'd make a bundle using him as a stud.

Belinda doesn't care what either of them thinks; she just wants to ride him.

She clucks at him, holding out half an apple; he turns his head to face her and pauses. "C'mon, pretty boy," she croons and he steps closer, ears flicking. He lips at the apple before taking it and she touches his jaw, then along his neck. "Such a good boy," she says, hooking the halter around his head.

He pulls back, yanking the lead rope out of her hand. She doesn't flinch because she saw the motion coming. He's trying to intimidate her, but she's not afraid.

"Now," she says, "that wasn't nice, was it, boy?"

He watches her for a moment and she stands still. She's got all day.

"Should I come back tomorrow, I wonder," she muses aloud, keeping her voice soft, soothing. "Or would you prefer to get out of this stall now?"

Thibodaux steps forward again, nosing for more apple. She offers him a baby carrot instead. He takes it and she holds out another, grabbing for the dangling rope when he's distracted. He looks at her, taking her measure.

"You don't scare me, boyo," she says, holding out a third carrot and sliding back the lock on the stall. "Don't you wanna go riding?"

He follows her out and she crossties him in the aisle, tacking him up swiftly. He stands still for it, ears flicking around. She smiles and laughs and croons little lullabies to him, patting his shoulder. "You're such a gorgeous lad," Belinda says. "So beautiful and all mine."

The large stallion nudges her and she giggles. "I know," she murmurs, cinching the saddle tight. "You wanna run." She slides his bridle on and unhooks the halter. "So do I."

He follows her to the outside arena with ease, stepping lively. He wants to run. She steps into the stirrup and hops, swinging a leg over. She feels right, settling on the saddle. She was born to ride this horse.

Belinda clucks to him and they start off slow, as she grows used to his movements. He's got a smooth gait, the smoothest she's ever ridden. She could ride him forever.

But then he takes off, rocketing around the arena, going faster and faster, from a trot to a canter to a gallop—entering the corner, he's flat-out running and she knows there is no way she can stay on.

So she decides to jump and feels her body crack as she hits the ground, not expecting to ever wake up.

_

* * *

Seventeen_

"Belinda Alexandra Talbot," Mum hisses from the passenger seat. "How _dare_ you do this to your father and me?"

"Mum, please," Bella says, turning onto the motorway that leads home. "I've just had the worst night of my life; can't we do this later?"

How could he turn away from her? Pretend they'd never been anything to each other?

"No, we cannot," Mum replies, voice full of anger. "You… Bell. How _could_ you?"

"I didn't mean to." Bella can't hold back the tears that bubble up in her voice. "He was so suave, Mum, so beautiful. He promised we'd be together forever." He lied. How could he lie to her?

"So you slept with him." There is no understanding in the words, no forgiveness. Bella thinks she may have finally lost her mother forever.

"Mum, please," she repeats, looking away from the road. "I didn't…" She can't tell her mother she's pregnant. Not with Jordan's baby. She just can't.

The turn is sharp; even Bella is unsure if she meant to flip the car or not. When she wakes up, Mum's battered but alive. The babe that had been in Bella's womb, however, didn't make it.

_

* * *

Twenty-two_

She's in the American south, somewhere just east of Biloxi. A major prize is hiding in a haunted house; she could make millions off it. She just needs to find it.

The charm's in the attic, if her research is correct, which of course it is. She wouldn't be doing this if she weren't absolutely sure. She goes in the daytime, because the ghost only materializes at night. It shouldn't take long, but the attic door swings closed behind her, locking from the outside. She stares at the door, tries the knob, pulls out her lock-picking kit, but nothing works. The knob won't budge.

Bloody hell, she's trapped.

She holds off the panic by pulling out her cellphone, but—of course—there's no signal. She bangs on the door for a few minutes, cursing under her breath. How could her first acquisition have gone wrong already? It's not even close to sundown!

Bella leans against the door, taking a deep breath. Losing her head won't help her—will, in fact, be nothing but a hindrance. She can find a way out. She will.

Once she gains her composure, she examines every inch of every wall in the attic, finding the charm within minutes. She pockets it and keeps going. There are nine hours till dark and she has to find a way out before then, otherwise…

No. She will find a way out. She will.

By a quarter todusk she's frantic and crying, the walls closing in on her and the old house groaning. Her hands are aching, the skin of her palms and knuckles torn. She's used every bullet of her gun firing at the doorknob and dulled the blade of her knife.

There is no way out.

There's no way out.

Bella leans her back against the far wall and sinks down, staring at the door. She closes her eyes and remembers the manor, Mum and Dad, those years as a little girl before it all went to Hell.

There's no way out of this damned house with its bloody ghost, but she's not going to die whimpering like a helpless child. She's a woman grown, a woman with accomplishments, even if they mean nothing now.

She falls asleep because she's never been so exhausted and wakes to a gruff old man shaking her, calling her a damned fool girl. She's so happy, she kisses him full on the mouth.

* * *

_Twenty-five_

"Listen to my voice," he says, "and tell me if I'm serious."

He is, and she's never been so terrified.

She swallows, breathes, drives. There has to be a way to convince him she's worth more alive.

There has to be.

* * *

_Twenty-seven_

"I warned you, Bella." His voice is silky-smooth and so cold it makes her shiver.

"What are you doing, Dean?" she asks, eyes on his gun, that same one from the first time they truly met, in her Queens flat. "You're not a killer."

She's been in this safehouse for a week; how could he have found her? No one knows the location…

"You're a threat," he answers simply. Like it's obvious. "You sell yourself to the highest bidder, and you know too much. It can't be allowed."

"Dean, please," she tries, hunching in on herself. "Don't do this." She lets her eyes tear, trying the helpless woman card; it's worked before. "I don't… I'm not ready to die."

His face is pitiless. "You've betrayed us before."

She closes her eyes and doesn't bother to pray.


	110. be a becoming and an ending

**Title**: be a becoming and an ending

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: character death. Like, a lot.

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 635

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

When Bobby Singer is dying alone in his bed, he sees Dean Winchester.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean says. "Been awhile."

And then his tired heart gives out.

o0o

When Jo Harvelle is dying in the woods, guts leaking out of her belly, she sees Dean Winchester smirking down at her. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, kneeling next to her. "How you been?"

She gurgles on her own blood and dies, eyes wide open.

o0o

When Lisa Braedon is dying in the hospital from pancreatic cancer, her son and grandson curled up in the chair next to her bed, she sees Dean Winchester leaning against the wall.

She blinks, then blinks again, and he's still there.

"Lisa," he says. "You look good."

"Dean?" she asks.

He smiles and pushes off the wall, saunters over to her. "So, what was that about him not bein' my son?"

She follows his gaze to Ben, who has his father's build and his father's cheekbones, and his father's sense of humor.

She'd shrug if she had the energy. "I lied."

He nods. "I figured." He leans down and softly kisses her forehead. "Sleep, Lisa."

Her eyes close and never open again.

o0o

When Lucas Barr is dying in Michael Wilson's arms, he sees Dean Winchester on the far edge of the clearing.

"Lucas," he says, striding forward to kneel beside them. "You did good, Lucas."

He chokes on blood when he opens his mouth to speak, and Dean reaches over to touch his cheek. "Just rest, kiddo," Dean says softly.

Michael is sobbing as Lucas goes.

o0o

When Kathleen Hudak is dying after spinning out on an icy road and slamming into a tree, Dean Winchester is sitting next to her.

"Wha-what's going on?" she gasps out, unable to take a full breath. She can't feel her lower half and her vision is going dark.

"Shh, Kathleen," he says, taking her hand, the only part of her that doesn't hurt. "It's okay, I promise."

She trusts him. Just like back on that case, she trusts him. "Riley?" she murmurs.

Dean smiles. "He's waiting."

Kathleen lets go.

o0o

When Ellen Harvelle is dying at eighty-seven, having outlived everyone she ever loved, Dean Winchester is standing at the foot of her bed. "I did care for you," he says, eyes soft. "I still do, you know."

"What are you?" she asks, voice reedy and weak.

He smiles. "That doesn't matter."

She dies chuckling, glad to be done.

o0o

When Azazel is dying, Dean Winchester holds a Colt and smiles with satisfaction.

o0o

When Missouri Mosley is dying, she tells Dean Winchester, "I was right about you, boy." She coughs, doubling over with the force of it, covering her mouth with a tissue.

Dean says, "This isn't what I intended, you know."

Missouri smiles at him. "I know."

Her hand spasms around the Kleenex and she goes to meet her Maker, sure in the knowledge that everything will be alright now.

o0o

When Ben Collins is dying, he sees Dean Winchester, that guy who helped save him and his family that time in the woods. Dean nods to him and says, "Hiya, kiddo. Been a long time."

Ben can't speak around the oxygen mask, but Dean seems to read his mind. "Your brother and sister are fine, Benny-boy. But you're not."

He steps up and holds out a hand. "Come with me."

Ben is so very tired. He does.

o0o

When Dean Winchester is dying, an angel kneels beside him. Blinding white light fills the air around him, and a resounding voice commands, _Choose_.

"Choose what?" he mutters, trying to hold his insides in. He doesn't see Sam, or hear him. "Sammy!"

_Choose your eternal path_, the voice pronounces.

"Where's Sam?"

_Depending on what you choose_, the voice says, _you will see him again_.

Dean says, "I choose that way."

He dies.


	111. waiting

Title: waiting

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for season three; future!fic

Pairings: Dean/canon women

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 165

Point of view: third

* * *

When Haley, Andrea, Cassie, and Lisa meet, they all quickly realize they have something in common: they're waiting for a man who will never come back.

They share stories, Andrea and Haley quickly jealous that they never got him into bed.

"I lied," Lisa admits. "He is Ben's father."

"I lied, too," Cassie says. "I know we could have worked it out-he's more worth the trouble than anyone else ever has been."

Andrea sighs. "I know he wouldn't have stayed, but I wish I'd asked."

Haley agrees, "Me, too." She raises her glass, still more than half-full. "To Dean Winchester, the man who saved us all."

"To Dean," they each say, clinking their glasses together.

"May he return one day," Lisa adds.

But she remembers what he said, after giving her back the boy he didn't know was his son. She remembers the look on his face.

"May he return," they echo.

Outside, the sky is pale red where it's not covered by yellow clouds.


	112. fallen and proud

Title: fallen and proud

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: future!fic

Pairings: Dean/Castiel

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 195

Point of view: third

* * *

_Come back,_ they call, those yet unfallen. _Ask forgiveness and return to the fold, sheltered beneath His wing._

But Castiel cannot. His eyes are opened at last, like the first mother's when she ate that forbidden fruit. Castiel can see now, see what true life is, more than unquestioned commands and blind obedience.

He can no longer hear God's voice. He can no longer fly or purify. He is angel no more; the stumps of his wings burn.

But he can _feel_, can taste, can kiss-pleasure and pain are worth the loss.

_Come back_, they call. _Brother, return to us_.

Their voices are drowned out beneath Dean's corny joke and Sam's quiet laugh.

Castiel knows what lies inside Sam, that demon blood which nurtures Satan. But Dean... Dean.

_Come back_, a single voice whispers. _Castiel, please, come home_.

Michael, once Satan's closest companion, when Satan was still the beloved Morningstar.

Dean turns to smile at him, inviting him to join the laughter.

Castiel is angel no more, and this man is the reason. Castiel knows where this will end-he tasted the forbidden fruit when his lips met Dean's...

And he does not regret.


	113. tempered by regret

Title: tempered by regret

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for season 2

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 220

Point of view: third

* * *

Sometimes, Jo wishes she could go back in time and kick her younger self's ass. She had never listened to Mom, ran away at least twice a month, and actually hitchhiked to Iowa once. Luckily, she got picked up by a grandfather-type who convinced her to call Mom.

At thirteen, Jo had been a brat of the highest order. One time, she told Mom it was her fault Dad never came home-_He didn't die,_ Jo'd yelled. _You chased him away_!

Mom didn't slap her. Mom just looked at her, eyes sad, and swallowed, then turned and went to her room. She didn't come out for the rest of the night.

And now, Ash is dead, the Roadhouse gone, and Mom is nowhere to be found. Jo tries to call Bobby and Jefferson and even the Winchester brothers, but no one is picking up. The last thing she said to Mom was _I'll be home next week_. Not even _I love you_ or _Thank you_ or _I miss you_ or _You're the greatest, strongest woman I've ever known_.

Joshua's base is closest. She'll head there and keep calling until someone answers.

Mom's not dead. She can't be. Jo won't believe it, not ever. Mom is out there somewhere, kicking some evil ass. Jo refuses to contemplate anything else.


	114. with mighty wings outspread

**Title**: with mighty wings outspread

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.10; some reimaginings of Biblical lore

**Pairings**: mentions of Dean/Anna and Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 680

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_Ananchel_, he calls. _Ananchel, I know you are there._

She appears before him, glorious as the day she Fell. Her moments of impurity are erased by Father's grace. She would be breathtaking, had he breath.

_Castiel_, she replies. _What do you want?_

He inclines his head, unable to meet her eyes. _I ask your forgiveness. I… I regret my actions, and the inaction on my part that led to your Fall._

She smiles gently, like he's an errant child. _You had nothing to do with my Fall, Castiel. I tired of never knowing my Creator. I tired of His arbitrary rules and expectations. You could have done nothing, brother._

Relief sweeps him, and a deep sorrow. _After… I wondered if I should have Fallen with you. We had been together in all things._

She reaches out to caress his jaw_. I felt truly alone. I felt terror and despair. I would not wish those on anyone, Castiel, even Sammael or his lover. But I felt_… Her eyes close_. I felt love, Castiel. Not the barren feeling that Our Creator gave us, no… I felt pleasure. And that_… She takes a deep, unnecessary breath, opening her eyes. The expression there is one he does not know. _Castiel, I cannot explain it. But being human—I have existed for eons, but until I was human I was not alive. _

_But cut off from Father, _he asks. _How could you bear it?_

She shrugs, feathers jostling musically in place. _The better parts of humanity were worth it. But you must understand—I was unaware I had not always been human._

_Why… _He cannot think of how to frame the question. _You took pleasure in Dean Winchester?_

Her laughter is beautiful. _I knew there was lust in your heart, that night in the cabin. _

He blushes, but she—the favorite of all his siblings—lightly touches his shoulder. _Do not be ashamed, Castiel. In all my life, I have never met his equal. I knew that I would have one chance, one last night of humanity—so I took it. I enjoyed his body, yes. I have no regrets._

_Lust is a sin,_ he says. _But I have yet to repent, Ananchel._

She smiles sadly, leaning in to rest her forehead against his. _Sweet Castiel_, she whispers. _You have nothing to repent. Until you act there is no sin… and if ever there were a reason to Fall, Dean is it._ She lightly presses her lips to his. _You will be offered a choice: follow God's word or follow Dean._

Castiel's flinch is instinctual, ingrained since the beginning. _Blasphemy_—

She places a finger to his mouth. _No, Castiel. Fact. The final battle is coming, and there are more than two sides: God with His angels, Lucifer with his demons, and Sam. Many demons will flock to Sam's banner, but nowhere near all_.

She pulls away, stepping back. _I will be with Dean. I will not ask you to join us; I know how hard a decision it will be._ Her wings flare as she prepares to leave. Her last piece of advice is simply, _Talk to Dean._

Castiel watches her go, more confused than he has ever been. He has always been loyal to Father, never even considered straying. He rejected Sammael. He has held himself aloof from Man—but now… He pulled Dean from Hell, cradled that soul in Heaven's Light, healed the rotting, torn flesh and returned Dean to life. He is Dean's guardian, Dean's guide.

Castiel knows that Dean will never leave Sam, even if Father commands they part. He also knows that Sam is beyond death—only his brother could kill Sam now that he's come into his abilities. That is why Dean had to be saved: he is the last-ditch effort of a war already lost.

Looking out over Creation, Castiel wonders what to do. The final battle is swiftly approaching, Lucifer about to walk free, God marshalling his forces—

And Sam is eating a hamburger, laughing with Dean.

_If ever there were a reason to Fall… _

And down Castiel plummets.


	115. awake, arise, or be forever fallen

**Title**: awake, arise, or be forever fallen

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Milton.

**Warnings**: re-imagining of angelic lore; blasphemy; spoilers for aired season four; speculation

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1170

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: thanks to sadelyrate for reading over this

* * *

You know how many angels have seen the face of God? Four. And I'm not one of them. – Anna, "Heaven and Hell"

o0o

The first angel created is not named as such. He is cradled close by his Creator in the new night, simply called _Hey, you_. Eventually, as dawns and dusks pass, that is changed to Sammael. He is the first, the greatest, the beloved of Heaven.

The second, his first brother, is named Michael as their Creator fashions him from stardust. _You must teach him_, Creator says, stroking Sammael's face. _It is your duty_. Sammael is pleased with the responsibility and leads his brother Michael through the skies.

The third, his second brother, is named Gabriel as their Creator molds him from cloud and water. _You must teach him_, Creator says, hands spinning him out_. As you did Michael. Show your brothers how to be. _Sammael preens beneath the trust, so very glad.

The fourth, his third brother, is named Azrael as their Creator wills him into existence from His own spirit. Azrael is different; he requires no instruction.

After him, Sammael's brothers and sisters are formed by the dozens, until they people the skies in a multitude. The Creator sends them out in droves to care for the newly created Earth and the creatures there. Sammael and his three brothers, the first and the greatest of all, remain at Creator's side, the only four to speak with Creator, to see His face.

Once Sammael questions Creator, demands more respect of the younger sets, leads his rebellion and falls from on high, only three angels see Creator's face. Azrael never says anything about Sammael, but Gabriel asks the Creator if He'll create another, to complete the gaping wound left by the absence of their eldest brother.

_No_, Creator replies. _One day, once he has learned his lesson, he will_ _return_.

Michael is tasked with visiting the humans, after their disobedience, teaching them how to survive. Azrael is the one who seals the entrance to the Garden of Eden. Gabriel instructs the younger sets.

There is never a mention of Sammael. Soon, the younger sets have forgotten his true name, only thinking of him as Satan or Lucifer or one of a dozen other things they call him.

Only once does Michael ask, _Could we have saved him?_

Gabriel has no answer, but Azrael says simply, _He made his choice_.

o0o

After countless dawns and dusks, Gabriel is sent to Earth with a message for a simple human girl. While he is there, checking over one of the younger sets, a shadow greets him by name.

_Brother, _the shadow calls, almost joyously. _Brother, it's been so long!_

Gabriel is caught up in excitement at seeing Sammael again, before Creator's command comes back: Sammael is to be shunned.

_I must go,_ he says softly, turning away.

_I understand,_ Sammael replies. _Tell our brothers I…_ Gabriel looks back as Sammael finishes, _I miss them._

Gabriel tells their brothers; Michael looks away, out over the heavens and Earth, and Azrael merely nods.

o0o

Azrael is sent to collect the Creator's Son, delivering his soul to Sammael in Hell. The brothers exchange nods and that is the extent of their interaction; even when Azrael fetches the Son and brings him to Heaven, Sammael merely watches from a distance.

o0o

One morning, Michael does not arrive at their daily meeting with Creator.

_He has been given an assignment_, Creator tells them_. Do not seek him out_.

o0o

The skies are lonely without Michael. Azrael is always so serious, so solemn. Gabriel misses his brother, a sharp ache that not even Creator's song can fully erase.

And he still misses Sammael.

o0o

Not long after Michael is sent on his mission, one of the younger sets, a female called Ananchel, brings word to Gabriel that there has been no sighting of Sammael in a span of human months.

_He is usually there to taunt us as we guide the humans,_ she reports. _But recently, nothing. _

Gabriel thanks her for the news and wings his way to Creator, who tells him, _Do not be troubled. I have everything in hand. _

o0o

Gabriel cannot help but worry as human years pass and there is no news of either Michael or Sammael. The Creator comforts him, but always Gabriel's mind races with thoughts of what his brothers might be doing, and where—he cannot sense either of them at all.

And then, finally, one of the younger sets, Castiel, meets him on a mountaintop and says, _I have word on Michael_. He pauses, looking away. _And Sammael_.

No one but Gabriel has used that name in years.

_Where are they?_ Gabriel asks. He can feel Creator's desire that he refrain from gleaning Castiel's knowledge, but Heaven has been so lonely.

_They were born as humans, _Castiel says. _I was tasked with the Raising of Michael from Perdition. _

Gabriel flinches. _Michael went to Perdition?_

Castiel nods, meeting Gabriel's eyes; his expression is filled with adoration and wonder. _He went there to save Sammael._

o0o

Gabriel confronts Creator, demanding, _What is the plan?_

Creator is serene on his throne. _They will save existence, child. Or they will destroy it. And I will watch as it plays out._

Closing his eyes, Gabriel whispers, _I'm going to Earth_.

_If you leave_, Creator says, _you will Fall_.

Gabriel throws himself from the heavens.

o0o

He finds them in a human diner, eating human food, locked deep within two human men. Castiel and a demon watch from inside two other humans.

Gabriel's back aches. His eyes itch. But being in the presence of his brothers eases away the pain of being torn from Creator's goodwill.

Castiel greets him with a smile, offering him a place at the table. Michael looks at him warily and Sammael asks, "Are you another angel?"

The demon stares at him. "Messenger," she murmurs.

He nods. "I am Gabriel," he tells his two elder brothers, the greatest and the beloved, the first of them all. "I'm here to help."

"Gabriel?" Michael asks. "Like, _the_ Gabriel?"

Again, he nods, studying his brothers in turn. They look nothing like they did in the heavens, or after Sammael's fall.

"Yes," Gabriel answers. Directing his question to Castiel in the angelic tongue, he asks, _Will they remember?_

Castiel replies, _As the last Seal breaks._

Sammael says politely, "I'm sure you know this already, but I'm Sam and he's my brother, Dean."

Gabriel smiles as Castiel continues, _Michael is sent by God to stop that from happening, by any means necessary. I am here to aid him, and to do what must be done, should he falter. _

"It is good to meet you, Sam and Dean," Gabriel tells them, remembering Sammael and Michael and the endless skies. They had been the first, the greatest, most beloved of the heavens. And now they are human, so very fragile, mortal and dangerous.

_You do not have the strength to kill the first of us_, Gabriel says simply. _Only Michael was ever so strong. _


	116. is it water, indeed, or air, or light

**Title**: is it water, indeed, or air, or light?

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denise Levertov.

**Warnings**: future!fic; spoilers for "Heaven and Hell"

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 630

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: thanks to sadelyrate for reading over this

* * *

_You see what is in him, _Uriel says, wings wrapped tightly around him.

_I know what he is, _Castiel replies. _I know what he could be. _

_And that is enough? _Uriel's voice is disbelieving, full of doubt.

_Yes_. Castiel nods. _That is enough_.

o0o

She is dressed as a pale, petite brunette, and Castiel buys her a drink at the bar. _Well, now_, she drawls, angling her body in a seductive pose that is useless_. Funny meeting you here._

_You must take better care_, he tells her. _You let Alistair get too close_.

She scoffs, draining down the alcohol. _Keep your criticisms to yourself, wing-boy. I was alone, doing my best to watch out for Sam, while you were singing with the choir_. She glares at him, the host's eyes darkening to unholy black. _Sam is mine. I don't do anything for Dean. _

Castiel grasps the host's arm to keep her from leaving. They both wince at the touch. _No_, he corrects gently. _You do everything for Dean._ She blinks up at him, eyes going back to their usual color_. You are still one of us in that regard_.

_You know what he is_, she breathes in shock. _You know what he did Below_.

His smile is ancient. _I carried him Out. I cradled him, healed him, Raised him. I know._

She pulls away and he lets her, watches her flee.

o0o

_You flirt with the edge, Brother_, Gabriel tells him as he rests in Heaven after the debacle with Alistair and Ananchel's ascension back into the fold.

_Am I wrong?_ Castiel asks, stretching his wings to their full span. _Did I disobey?_

Gabriel chuckles. _You've always been the clever one_.

o0o

Castiel Falls from Grace on a human Thursday. His wings darken and burn away, leaving only scars. Michael escorts him from Heaven and leaves him, shaking and shuddering and sobbing, on the dirt where Dean had been Raised.

_I wish you well, Brother_, Michael whispers, kissing his now-human forehead. _I trust you know what you are doing._

Castiel catches his hand as he pulls away. _Tell me_, he mumurs, voice nearly gone from screaming. _Did I do wrong?_

Michael's fingers are gentle as he detaches Castiel's grip. _No_, he answers softly, wings arching above him. _But you did disobey._

o0o

She finds him, still wearing that same girl, and kneels next to him. _Sam's more powerful than he's ever been, _she tells him, helping him sit up. _And Dean… well, he's really starting to piss me off. _

Castiel chuckles, wincing as his back pulls. _He is gifted at being annoying_.

Her eyes are sympathetic as she meets his gaze. _They will never grow back_, she says soberly. _I'm sorry_.

He shakes his head. _I carried him Out_, he says. _I knew from the beginning. I do not regret. _

_You will, _she promises, pulling back. _He'll never love you. You'll wonder every day if it's worth it. _

He lies back down on his belly, trying to ease the ache in his back_. I carried him Out,_ Castiel repeats_. I know what he is_. He turns his head to look at her. _You are a demon. You have Seen, too. _

She nods.

o0o

The sun is setting when she leads the brothers to him. He'll never fly again and he can no longer hear Father's voice, but he knows, as Dean's strong and gentle hands lift his battered body off the dirt, that it was worth it.

Castiel knows what Dean is, what he did, and what he can be. And Castiel knows that Sam, for all his power, will follow Dean.

_Did I do wrong?_ he shouts at the sky as Dean carries him to that behemoth of a car.

_No_, Father answers sadly, the last words he'll ever hear from his Creator. _But you did disobey. _


	117. I've been in your body, baby

**Title**: I've been in your body, baby, and it was paradise

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Richard Siken

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four

**Pairings**: um… none stated?

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 360

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

You tasted of fire, in the early days. You fought and kept silent; you glared and you spit. You gave no satisfaction to us, the demons and the damned. You had such fire. You still believed in deliverance and salvation.

And so passed the first ten years.

I knew of you, then. I had heard of Azazel's killer, the soul Lilith herself carried down, Lucifer's human brother. But I had my own games to play and Hell's politics has not interested me in millennia. It was not till your second decade with us that I meandered my way to your spot on the rack.

You were beautiful, holding in your screams. You refused to beg. My brothers and sisters turned you over to me and I wrangled such pretty sounds from your plump, bleeding lips.

I am the master of pain, Hell's chief tormenter. Before he left, even Lucifer flinched from some of my games.

You were amazing, my favorite. You took so long to break—two decades under my tutelage before you whispered _yes_ and allowed me to cradle you close, heal your wounds, carry you from the rack.

Given time, you could have equaled me, feared and beloved, gazed at with terror by all. But my unfallen brother, that angel—he took you from me. He ripped his way into Hell, his sword of godlight destroying all it touched, and he gripped you tight, in that same place I first touched you, and he fled back to Life.

You screamed at his touch, my favorite. Such a lovely, pain-filled sound. It did not come close to the beauty of the cries you made for me, but I still shivered with pleasure, even as rage coursed through me.

You are no angel's toy. You are no longer even Lilith's; her claim was replaced by mine when you whispered _yes_ and fell off the rack into my arms. Lilith has never tasted you, touched you, taken you.

But I've been in your body, baby, and it was paradise. You're mine. I'll find you again and bring you home, and we'll play such fun games all the way into eternity.


	118. a tale twice told but seldom written

**Title**: a tale twice told but seldom written

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from DuBois.

**Warnings**: AU; reimaginings of the creation

**Pairings**: none, really

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 905

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

On clear days, he can see all the way across the world. He studies the creatures, the little beings of flesh and bone and blood, as they go about their lives. They are fragile and so very young. They consume each other for sustenance, and only one kind that he can see kills for sport.

He does not interfere. He never interferes. They are not his responsibility or his creatures. He is simply an observer with no stake in the outcome.

He watches in silence as the killers lay siege to the world, claiming the ground and the sky and the other creatures as their own, subject to their whims and fancies.

The arrogance amuses him at first, but as the world begins to die beneath them, he is angered. Their creator, his brother, does nothing. He has long since lost interest, turned away to a new game.

It is not his responsibility, the world and the creatures. But he has felt wonder for the beauty of his brother's creations.

He has not spoken in so long he has forgotten the sound of his voice. He has forgotten how to form noise. He labors for a long time before directing his words to a small being, one of the killers; the great noise overwhelms the creature and it dies.

He takes this new knowledge and puts it into a second try. He attempts to speak more softly; again, a failure.

Soon, he sees, there will be nothing left to save. The world will be past salvation.

He has watched for countless generations of the self-named rulers of the world. No matter how he speaks, none of them can hear him. He is about ready to simply act and wipe clean existence. His brother is gone. He alone is left, watching. He can start over, make small beings of his own.

On clear days, he can look all the way across the world. On one such day, he sees a little girl, one of the killers' children, pick up a fallen being—named by the killers 'dog'—and take it home. For reasons he cannot fathom, he watches as she nurses the dog back to health and keeps the dog in her own bed, feed him from her own plate, guard over the dog until his death, five years later.

Such devotion for someone not even of her own kind. And then, eyes open, he sees such acts happening the world over. So many, trying to slow or even halt their slide to oblivion—and he feels pity. Still anger that things have gotten so far, but no longer does he wish to erase his brother's creations.

When he turns back to the little girl, she is a woman with two children, sons of her same beauty. He does not act as the evil comes for her, the worst of his brother's beings—he decides to let their lives play out.

He looks across the world, studying all the human societies, the killers, the highest and self-called best of Creation. So many love other creatures, and so many do not. But he will not cleanse the Earth without warning.

So he tries to speak again. But he needs a special being to hear him.

His brother's first creations, the angels, are under command of Michael, the eldest of them all. He leads them to a war with the darkest, Lucifer. And maybe that is his way in.

The little girl's son is prisoner of Lucifer and Lilith, rulers of the dark. The other son is hunting for things to kill. Both have her beauty, her ability to reach out. So, he decides, these brothers will be his final attempt. If he fails now, he will turn away, like his brother before him.

He acts for the first time by removing a human man from a prison of nightmares. He touches a fleshboneblood body for the first time in his eternal existence; he returns the man to his body and leaves him in the ground.

The man(DeanSammyMary'sboy) cannot hear him. Disbelieving of his own knowledge, he tries a second time.

Maybe, he thinks, having a body of his own will help the small beings, the humans, hear him. Maybe his voice is simply too large. And so he takes all his learning over the millennia and crafts himself a form. DeanSammyMary'sboy will listen to an angel, so he becomes one.

But then, his brother returns from the far side of the sky. He, too, takes a form, once again King of Creation.

_Thank you for keeping my children safe_, his brother the creator says. _You have done well_.

Angered, he buries himself in his first and only creation, Castiel, an angel unborn until he fashioned an earthly body. He does not speak to his brother and leaves the world, going away to search his own mind. He leaves the body in his brother's care.

What to do? His brother has come home, taking an interest again. The world had never been his responsibility. He has no stake in his brother's game.

A clear day dawns and he looks back. The man with his handprint dangles on the brink, about to die. The brother yells, "Dean!"

DeanSammyMary'sboy bears his mark.

And he acts, for the second time, reclaiming his one and only creation, spreading his wings across the world, going to war for the life of a human man.


	119. falls the shadow

**Title**: falls the shadow

**Disclaimer**: title from TS Eliot

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 870

**Point of view**: third

**Dedication**: katriel1987 for her birthday

* * *

Bobby raised his glass to a toast for Winchester boys the day the seas boiled to salt. He sat in his backyard, lit a cigar, and sipped a glass of whiskey. Clancy and Holden were curled up together at his feet, two ferocious dogs acting like scared pups. They knew what was coming just as well as he did.

It was the rest of the world that would be caught off-guard.

o0o

Missouri sat in her den, a mug of cocoa warming her freezing hands. Isis, Set, and Duke Michael the Fourth took up sentry posts spread over the room: Isis beside her, Set on the windowsill and Mikey climbed to the top of the bookshelf.

It'd make no difference. From the moment she saw those boys, saw their minds and their secrets, their pasts and their futures, saw the marks on their souls, she knew. She sipped her cocoa, mind going back nearly five years, and wondered if she could have done anything different, could have led those boys to a different outcome.

No, she decided, one hand stroking down Isis' caramel-cream back. She couldn't have changed a thing.

No one could.

o0o

Monica cradled Rosie close, huddled in the basement, Rajah at her feet. Upstairs, the wind was screaming, tearing at her house. The wolfhound whimpered as the ground shook beneath them.

"It'll be alright," Monica said to them both.

Rosie buried her head in Monica's neck, arms tight around her neck. "No, it won't," she whispered, sounding far older than five.

o0o

Ellen and Jo and Kat clung to each other inside the circle of salt. Ellen had a shotgun, Jo a consecrated iron knife, and Kat a book of spells that were known to work on anything lesser than a white-eyed demon.

All three of them knew it wasn't enough. But they were determined to go out fighting, one last defiance against the hordes of Hell.

o0o

Ben dreamt in fire and blood. He woke to Mom screaming in her sleep, begging for mercy, for life. He closed his eyes, considered praying, and instead got up to clean the guns. They were running low on salt and fresh water, so he decided to check the rest of the supplies. They could make a run when Mom got up.

He hummed Metallica's "Enter Sandman" as he stripped down his favorite Colt, one Mom said his father had left, just days before he died. Ben wasn't sure he believed her, but it was a nice thought.

Something shrieked outside the safe-room. Ben put his Colt back together and grabbed another.

o0o

Diana poured herself a glass of tea, flipping through the Key of Solomon. "Found a new spell we ought to try," she said as Kathleen came in, pulling her rob on. "It's a long shot, but everything is these days."

Kathleen sat across from her, accepting a glass of iced tea with a nod of thanks. "Do you think it'll work?" she asked. "Anything we do—can we make it out?"

Looking up, Diana met the younger woman's eyes and read the beginnings of despair. "All I know is," she said, "that I should have been dead years ago, and two men saved me for no other reason than that's it what they do. And I don't plan on dyin' now."

Peering down into her drink, Kathleen said nothing. Outside, another tree fell.

o0o

"Lenore!" Eli yelled. "Duck!"

She dipped down, just beneath the hellhound's pounce, and spun, ripping out its throat. "Where are they comin' from?" she demanded.

Eli's gun roared and Lenore swiped another 'hound with her machete. "We have to get to the cellar and the pack," he called to her. "We can outlast whatever comes down there."

Above their heads, thunder rumbled and lightning split the sky. The 'hounds whimpered and backed away, then turned tail and ran.

Lenore stared after them until Eli grabbed her hand and pulled her downstairs.

o0o

Rebecca handed her favorite shotgun to Jamie and nodded for her to cover Zach when he checked the outside wards. "I'll head upstairs and check the windows," she said, taking her second-favorite gun with her. "Keep an eye out for sudden movement."

"I know," Jamie replied. "Anything that moves, take it down."

Michael came in behind Rebecca, Asher on his heels. "What can we do?" the boy asked, eyes hooded.

"Make sure we have enough supplies to last the week," Jamie told him. Rebecca headed up the stairs and Jamie turned to watch out the slightly-cracked window.

"Okay," Michael said, and went back the way he'd come, Asher following.

Outside, something screamed and Zach hurried into the house while Jamie took the shot.

o0o

Lilith sat on her throne, watching as Hell burned. She closed her eyes, calling back all her forces, hoping to delay the inevitable just a little longer.

She felt the first 'hound fall, and then her brother's power exploded out and Lilith shrieked in pain.

It was lost in the roar of her brother's despair rolling across all the realms.

o0o

Dean died, blown into oblivion by his final choice to save Sam above all else. And Sam knelt in bloodstained dirt, his voice no more than a murmur when he said, _Let the world burn. _


	120. Even my soul forsakes me now

**Title**: Even my soul forsakes me now

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Quotes from 4.8. title from Byron.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 400

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

_So, what would little Sammy wish for?_

_Lilith's head on a plate. Bloody._

o0o

You're not the boy you were. You're better, stronger. Hey, don't look away, Sam. It's not something to be ashamed of. You're growing up, is all. BoyKing becoming a man.

It's amazing, being at your side. You have no idea, do you? You leak power and I soak it up, into every part of me. I savor it, bathe in it, dance with your shadow and pretend I wear your crown.

Oh, oops, did I say that aloud? Silly me. You don't like hearing things like that, Sam, and why not? Afraid Dean won't approve?

Don't you get it, Sam? You said it yourself, when that siren-slut got up in you and made you his puppet. Her puppet? I've never been big on siren biology. Anyway. You said it yourself: Dean only slows you down. He gets in the way. You're bound to him by shared history and shared blood, but he isn't worth it. Let him go. You can set him up somewhere nice, a whole other life, a pretty little June Cleaver and a couple of Beavers.

You're not the boy you were, the one he made that deal for. You're someone new, someone strong and capable. Dean is a relic, tarnished and chipped. Let him go. You know he doesn't want to be here, right?

C'mon, Sam, admit it. You don't want him here, either. Just a thought, that's all it would take. A few words, a little hand-waving, all that awesome will bent to one purpose--you could remake the world. That's why both sides fear you so much.

Sam. Stop looking so anxious. You were born for this. Azazel, he didn't give you anything you didn't already have.

Listen--let Dean go. He's baggage you don't need, baggage you don't want. You feel guilt. Some love. But he's not the man he was, and neither are you. You've both changed. You don't fit together anymore, and that hurts, Sam, I know it does. But we have bigger concerns now.

They're grooming him to kill you, Sam. It's why they brought him back. So you need to put him somewhere safe, somewhere they can't get him.

You should kill him, but I know you won't. And don't worry, sweetie, I won't kill him either.

You're the king, Sam. You're--_listen_, damnit--you're Lucifer.


	121. Secretly I love you

**Title**: Secretly I love you, whom they think I have abjured

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denies Levertov.

**Warnings**: twisted; spoilers for aired season four; AUish

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 1440

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_In Hell, you'd sell your soul for a sip of water if you hadn't already lost it playing cards._

o0o

There aren't levels of Hell. There is one large cavern that never ends, and it is ringed by bars of bone. In the middle there is a palace of obsidian on the shores of a burning lake.

It never rains in Hell. It is never silent. Screams fill the air every minute, begging every second. Laughter and gnashing of teeth block out any chance quiet.

Demons do not enjoy Hell. It is the Pit of Despair for every being. It is torment and pain.

Lucifer is Master there. He and his generals were once angels; they remember the perfection of Heaven. They remember how it felt to wake in Hell.

It is by Lucifer's command that demons torment and are tormented. Occasionally, he takes part. His tortures are only surpassed by Alistair's, the one being who delights in Hell. Alistair never leaves the Pit; he works his way through souls and demons alike. If they are on the rack, they are his to do with what he desires.

Lucifer is called to Earth, long after the War and the Fall. He leaves Moloch in charge and goes. He never returns.

Swiftly, Lilith takes command. She tosses Lucifer's generals on the rack and tells Alistair to have fun.

In Hell, time has no meaning. There is no sun or moon; there is only fire. Eons can pass in Hell while on Earth a man blinks once.

And twenty-two human years cannot be counted in Hell. But that span of time does pass before Alistair's favorite is dragged down and nailed to the rack.

Lilith gives Alistair a single command: _take special care of this one_. And oh, how he does. He spends all his time with that one soul, tasting and taking. He heals the soul just so he can start over. He does not count or measure, but he savors the pretty screams he wrangles from the soul's chapped lips—they are so few and far between.

The soul does not break. Alistair never offers it the chance to take the knife and torment others. This soul would spit on him, if it had the moisture. Too much of the man Above was brought Below, and when the Gate opens, the soul tears itself off the rack and rushes upward.

Alistair watches it go, then turns to another and spins his knife.

Time passes; Alistair neither knows nor cares how long. He has souls and demons to play with, but then Lilith comes to him, a small ball of light clasped tightly in her hand.

_Brother_, she says. _I have a gift for you._

_Ooh, a present for me?_ he asks, stabbing his blade into a demon's eye and turning. _Lil, you shouldn't have._

As he watches, the light dims. _This is a special one_, she tells him. _I need him completely shattered. No part of the man he was can remain when the angels come._

_The angels? _Alistair holds out a bloodstained hand and Lilith drops the soul onto his palm. _He's chosen?_

Lilith laughs and Hell shakes. Alistair strokes the soul and its light blinks out. _He has a great destiny,_ Lilith says. _He'll save the world, if we let him. Alistair._

He looks up to meet her bone-white eyes. His glow the same shade as she murmurs_, Rip him apart, brother. Nothing of him can remain._

Alistair peers down at the soul and smiles. _We'll have fun, sister. I'll shred him and sew him back together all wrong._

Lilith's gift becomes his favorite, even surpassing the one who never broke and escaped. It is beautiful and strong; he pours all his attention onto it and gives it the offer—_join me and it all will stop_. It never begs, never cries, and screams only once. It utters a name, and at that name, Hell trembles.

Alistair ignores that; it is none of his concern. He focuses only on the soul. He offers and cuts, offers and rips, offers and slices clean through—_join me and it all will stop._

He does not measure time, but it has been a long while when the soul says, _Yes._

_Yes what?_ Alistair asks, lowering the knife.

The soul turns its head, blood trailing down its face, bright red against pale skin in the firelight. _Give me the blade_, it says.

Alistair grins and gently unties the soul, cradles it in his arms. _Good boy_, he croons. _Let's get you cleaned up, some food. Then we'll have fun._

Alistair calls his sister and she saunters in. The soul eats its way through an entire feast of dealmakers and Lilith grins.

_Oh, Ali!_ she says. _He's marvelous_. She steps in close, the Master of Hell, and the soul snarls at her. She jerks back in wonder. _He has no fear. Alistair, darling, he is your masterpiece. _

_I was gonna take him to the shore, let him play with the souls there,_ Alistair says. _Unless you have something else in mind._

_Hmm…_ Lilith thinks for a moment, watching as the soul, Alistair's favorite above all, drains a chalice of blood._ I do have a toy that would be perfect_. She turns to Alistair. _Once he's done, bring him to the throne room._

She strides out and he focuses back on his pet, his student, the one he's broken beyond repair and will piece back together wrong.

_What is your name?_ Alistair asks, slinking close and putting his hand on the soul's shoulder. The soul leans into the touch, and does not answer.

When Alistair leads it to the throne room, the soul follows complacently, deceptively docile.

Lilith sits on her throne;_ Lucifer would be a better fit_, he thinks. _Lilith is cruel enough, but Lucifer had a more creative imagination. _

Lilith holds a small ball of light, even tinier than Alistair's pet had been. _This was a woman, _Lilith says. _And if your soul there can break her, he's the best you've ever done. _She throws the soul onto the bone-floor and Alistair stretches it out, into the shadow of the shape it wore in life. It looks a great deal like his pet.

Lilith leans back. Alistair turns to his favorite and says, _Go on. Make me proud_.

His masterpiece steps forward, pulling out a knife, and kneels by the soul's head. Its eye focus on his pet's face, and it gasps, _Dean?_

_Who was she?_ Alistair asks Lilith while the soul screams in fear and pain.

Lilith giggles, offering him a decanter of blood. He sips and she says, _His mother. _

_And his name, _Alistair muses. _Dean?_

Nodding, Lilith takes back bottle. _Dean_, she repeats. _You broke him, Alistair. Oh, so very well done._

Dean shreds his mother past all recognition while Hell's Master and her brother watch. It is the most glorious thing Alistair has ever seen. Lilith claps her hands, delighted when Dean rises to his feet and steps back. The soul, his earthly mother, is silent on the floor, unmoving. Lilith flicks her fingers and the soul falls back into the small ball shape, much dimmer than it had been.

Lilith smiles, standing. She kisses Alistair's cheek. _Well done_, she says again.

Alistair nods and walks down the dais. _Come on_, he tells Dean, and Dean follows. This soul has potential to rival Alistair, if given time. But time may be short—there is no telling how long Alistair has until the angels come to take him away.

So he takes Dean back to the rack and they play.

They cut a swath through the endless rack, breaking and burning, spilling oceans of blood. Dean is talented, like only Alistair and Lucifer before him. Alistair can only watch in awe at some of the ways Dean discovers to cause pain.

And then the angels come. They swarm in, wings snuffing out some of the fire, and one angles straight for Dean. Alistair lunges, but the angel gets there first; Dean screams at the touch of its holy hand on his shoulder.

Alistair howls in fury as the angel carries Dean out. He invents new forms of torment, inspired by his stolen student, but it doesn't even dent his rage.

Lilith stops by and says_, I need someone to go retrieve a girl who can hear angels._

He ignores her and cuts off a man's penis.

_Dean will be there_, she says. _I know you've never left, but maybe—_ He turns to face her. She finishes, _Maybe you can bring him home_.

Alistair smiles. _Maybe I will_.


	122. the song of ashes, of falling

**Title**: the song of ashes, of falling

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denise Levertov.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four

**Pairings**: none stated; bring your own inferences

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_Azrael's child, _he says. _You cannot have this one._

The reaper looks at him, body shimmering. _Angel_, it replies. _Release me from that human and I shall go. _

He nods. _In a moment_, he says, _you will be free_.

And Sue-Ann's necklace is shattered.

o0o

_Azrael's child_, he says, _you cannot have this one_.

The reaper looks at him, insubstantial eyes sad. _Angel_, it replies. _If it is his time, I will take him. _

_No_, he says. _You cannot have this one_.

It smiles, the smile of regret and obedience. _I do as I was made to_, it tells him gently. _And if his soul is ready to go, I shall take him to the otherside, whether you wish it or not. _

He turns to look at the broken body, at the two brothers communicating through the veil, and he says, _I will fight you. _

_I am Death,_ it says simply. _You will try_.

But John makes a deal and the reaper takes no soul but his, leaving him to the demons with whom he bargained.

o0o

_Azrael's child_, he begs, _do not take this one_.

Blood and pain coat the walls.

_Angel_, the reaper whispers_, I am sorry. But his time is here, and he sold himself. He knew his fate. _

_Please_, he says, wings spread over the still-warm body, sheltering it from further harm. The brother is sobbing, the body in his arms.

_I do as I was made to_, it explains softly.

It takes a soul to Hell and leaves him at Lilith's mercy.

o0o

_Azrael's child_, he says. _Why are you here?_

_I met that man three times_, the reaper replies. _He is... astounding, for a mortal_. It turns to face him, and he sees its father in its bearing. _I can lead you to him_.

He smiles. _Welcome, then,_ he says.

And down they plunge into the depths.


	123. if I fall I leave behind me a name

**Title**: if I fall I leave behind me a name that endures

**Disclaimer**: the Winchesters aren't mine. Title from _Gilgamesh_.

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: John/Mary

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 600

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

They could be so very dangerous. Everyone sees it: the feral edge, the darkness in their eyes, the ease with which they lie to everyone, and even themselves.

Oh, they could be so very dangerous. The four of them slink in the darkness, brandishing silver and iron and lead, leaving corpses and blood in their wake—

_But they only ever kill evil_, their defenders say, taking up the chorus whenever some talk of going to the authorities. _Their methods are dangerous_, their few friends admit. _But don't they get the job done?_

And the whiners are sated, for awhile. But there is always something new, some way they fight that a few are bothered by, and the talk starts again.

_You won't see them 'til they strike, if then_, the legends say. Get in their way and they'll kill you. They won't feel guilt. They only feel rage and hatred, and an insatiable need for vengeance.

_They could be so very dangerous_, even their friends whisper. _If they ever turn on us. If they ever decide that hunting the dark isn't enough. But what can we do? _

None have the skill to take them out, so they can only wait, the naysayers and the frightened friends; they can only wait for the fire burning within them to destroy them from the inside out.

_Even the reapers fear them_, their allies say. _Death will never take them_.

And they are so very dangerous, eyes turned to their prey, knives sharp and guns cocked, mother and father and sons. Scarred by fire, angered by threats, never the same after that smoke-filled November night.

_That demon didn't know what it did_, the historian of the hunters says, fingers clutched around a sweating mug, spilling beer as he drinks_. It didn't have a fuckin' clue. That woman, Mary Winchester—shit, she's scary. Only kid of Samuel Campbell, you know. Heard of him? _He shudders, gesturing for a refill. _It should'a left her alone. And the husband, John! Damn, he was a marine, with files so locked you gotta be the president to even look at 'em, and the fuckin' demon went after them? They'd just been married about five years before, with two kids. And the demon! Such a stupid fuck. It attacked them in their home. How dumb can you be? _He appeals to his audience. _Honestly, how dumb can you be? Pretty fuckin' dumb. _

They have no homebase, nowhere anyone can name. They slip in and out of towns like the ghosts they hunt, silent and deadly, mother and father and sons.

_And the kids!_ the historian says, giggling, almost too drunk to see. _Holy shit, those boys of theirs! Fuck, if I had to choose between them and Satan himself, I'd go with old Lucifer. Shit. If their parents are scary, those kids could frighten Hell_. He looks around with furtive eyes, nearly falling off the stool. _Those boys_, _Dean and Sam—named for Mary's parents. Apt names. They—_He shudders again. _Can we talk about somethin' else? _he asks, and the conversation turns.

They are dangerous. They only go after evil, but anything that gets in their way is fair game, and they care only for each other. To insult one is to insult all, and they are indiscriminate when infuriated.

_Stay the fuck away from the Winchesters_ replaces _If it's supernatural, we kill it_ as the hunter creed and they all wait for word.

And the steel-eyed woman with her men of iron stalk the night, not caring who gets in their way, uncaring who is hurt or killed.


	124. give me your smile awhile

**Title**: give me your smile awhile

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Adrienne Rich.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_It was not your fault_, Castiel tells Dean as he sleeps. _Know that. Release your guilt. Repent and be forgiven, and let it go._

He knows that Ananchel had also spoken to Dean about his time in Hell, but Dean refused to listen then, just as he refuses to hear now.

Dean dreams of Hell, of what he did and what was done to him there. Alistair has no equal when it comes to torment and Dean's soul is scarred. Castiel had healed his body, but one mark remains, one blemish Castiel could not erase. He tried to cover it with his own, but Alistair's claim still shines through.

_Dean_, Castiel says. _You are blameless. Ask and you will be forgiven. You are chosen_.

But the most fascinating human in all of Castiel's existence does not listen. Alistair is in his memory and Dean dreams of blood dripping off a knife held in his grip.


	125. You touched me in places so deep

**Title**: You touched me in places so deep

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Adrienne Rich.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four

**Pairings**: Alistair/Dean

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 530

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"Bleed him dry," Alistair purrs. "There's a good boy."

The knife slices into the soul's mindflesh with ease, sinking through muscle, bone, and gristle, and coming out the other side a lovely shade of crimson. The soul screams, a pretty sound, and begs for mercy, for a shred of pity, for anything but more pain. Music. Alistair sways in time to the gasps his pet wrangles from the soul, and he laughs in pleasure when the soul finally quiets, voice spent.

"Well done," he praises, taking the knife. "Let's move on down the line, kiddo."

He's never had a student learn so quickly or delight in it as much as himself. He is Hell's chief tormenter, the Executioner, the master and connoisseur of pain. Even his lord Lucifer would sometimes flinch back from the worktable, back when his lord was around.

And this boy, this newcomer to the Pit—he fought well, but beneath Alistair's unending attention, he broke. Time has no meaning and Alistair had never bothered to count, but he thinks his pet lasted a very long time.

"Show me what you can do," Alistair invites, slouching, hands in his pockets. They are the masters here; they can wear whatever form they want. So his pet's appearance… Alistair studies as his boy goes to work. He's wearing the clothes his earthly body died in, shredded and bloody, and always has blood splatters on his face, coating his hands. And his eyes—Alistair doesn't know what color they were in life, but down here, where he is the swiftly-rising star, his eyes are always black.

_Given enough time_, Alistair muses, _you could evolve, kiddo. You could become like me, like Lucifer—or more. Potential, pet: you're drowning in it._

Alistair grins, eyes flashing bone-white. "Enough," he calls. "Let's get some lunch."

His pet sheathes the knife and walks back to him, waiting. The boy is still so young, seeking praise, so Alistair caresses his face. "You're a good boy, kiddo," he says, licking his pet's blood-soaked neck. He never uses his pet's human name—the man he was does not matter here.

The boy curls into him, face upturned, eyes wide and mouth open. Alistair plants biting kisses onto his pet's skin. "Beautiful," he purrs. "My favorite, so beautiful."

He places his hand on the boy's left shoulder and wills it to burn. His pet sighs in pleasure. "My mark," Alistair tells him. "All of Hell knows you're mine."

Smiling, his greatest student leans in to kiss his neck, whispering, "Lord, master, let me worship you."

Alistair shoves the boy down and takes him, again and again and again, and finally sated, he offers his hand to help the boy up. "Hungry?" he asks.

His pet smiles, willing his clothes back to their previous condition, and his eyes are a shade lighter. Alistair grins and has to make his favorite of every Hellbound-soul bleed just a little more.

His pet—so beautiful, so sadistic, so much potential… "You could be the greatest," Alistair says.

And his boy preens, purrs, presses in close, submits with pleasure when Alistair can't resist taking him again.

They never do make it to lunch.


	126. the way we danced

**Title**: the way we danced

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denise Levertov.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season one

**Pairings**: Dean/Cassie

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 680

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Cassie learned about skin color in first grade when Mark Castillo called her a nigger. She'd never known about it before. The word didn't hurt, not till later, but the tone—he sounded so angry and she had no idea why. Mrs. Wilson put him in time-out and didn't let him go to recess. She also gave Cassie extra cookies at snack.

Cassie asked Mama about the word and Mama cried. Daddy hugged her close. All they said was it was nasty and hateful, but words can't hurt, not really, unless you let them.

That was Cassie's first experience with racism. There were never very many over the years, just some comments here and there, but she read her history books and listened to the old folks who had lived it. Her mother told her to marry a black man because straddling the line was so hard.

"I would do it again," Mom said. "I love your daddy that much. But I want an easier life for you."

She chose journalism and made good grades and had dozens of friends but none that were very close. Cassie wanted to succeed and had no time for frivolities. She'd had two boyfriends in her entire life, neither of which lasted longer than a year.

"Are you happy?" Mom asked. "That's all I want for you."

"Take a break," Dad said. "You'll burn out."

But Cassie knew her limits, and knew she had reserves of strength left that hadn't even been touched.

It was just after her twenty-third birthday when Dean Winchester padded into her life, like a giant cat in James Dean's coat. He was gorgeous and funny and sweet—and dangerous. So very very dangerous. Cassie had never been boy-crazy, but missed days of work for him. He took her to art galleries and museums and for walks in the park. They fell into bed and worshipped each other, and Cassie felt out-of-control. She liked it.

She traced his scars, kissed each one, and said, "Tell me." He made up fanciful stories and she listened to his heartbeat.

It lasted for almost a month. Then he told her he hunted ghosts and she tossed him out of her life.

Cassie went back home, went to work with Dad, and tried to forget Dean Winchester, his hands and eyes and, God, his lips. She dreamed about him and fantasized about him, the first white boy she ever kissed. He had never seemed to notice the dirty looks from little old ladies and grizzled old men. Cassie ignored them, but Dean didn't see them, and Cassie had to remind herself he was crazy when the regret caused tears in her eyes.

He was crazy and clearly wanted to break-up—why else say something so out there? But even when he was hurt and angry, he had never said the slurs that others dropped so easily, with such glee. He had stared at her with those eyes, so wide and aching, and though he'd opened his mouth, he said nothing.

She'd yelled, "Get out!" and he went. He could have torn her apart—she'd felt the power in his body, the strength in his hands. He could have beaten her, with fists or words, and she'd known other men that would've. But she told him to go and he did. He drove out of town in his behemoth of a car and left her crying.

Cassie had thought about forever, had imagined them as old and happy, like her parents, still in love after almost forty years. But Dean had to tell her some bullshit story, trying to break-up, and then she went home. Alone.

She had no time for dating or friends. She was either at the paper or writing, trying to make it big, with breaks for eating, sleeping, and visiting her parents.

"You'll burn out," Dad said. "Slow down, baby. You're young. Go out and have fun!"

"I will, Dad," she promised, and went right back to work.

Two weeks later, she called Dean and he didn't seem that crazy at all.


	127. untitled

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for 4.15

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 110

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It is trapped, stuck in the demon's sigil of power, and it cannot move of its own volition. "Pretty little body," the demon hisses, wrenching it up and making a shallow cut. "Metaphysical blood," the demon muses. "What d'ya think, Dean? Will it taste as good?"

"Alistair," Dean growls. "I'll kill you."

The reaper watches as both Winchesters strain to affect the environment, to stop the demon while trapped themselves. But the endeavor is useless—its master's mark is all over the scythe. Death has spoken. And the reaper is Death's servant.

"Dean," the reaper says, "Don't—"

And Alistair yanks it back, baring its neck, and Death sings.


	128. history written on the body

**Title**: history written on the body

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: takes place between 4.2 and 4.3

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 620

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"You lament your lack of scars," Castiel observes.

Dean yelps and whirls around, his towel dropping. He snags it midair and returns it to his waist.

"Dude!" he says. "When the door is locked, it means stay the fuck out."

Castiel ignores the words, focusing instead on the body he poured Father's healing grace into, re-knitting rotted muscle and flesh. Dean's body is as perfect as the First Man's had been, back at the beginning. Every physical weakness is gone.

But Dean is not happy with his body and Castiel wants to know why.

"Hello?" Dean says, snapping his fingers loudly in Castiel's face. "Anybody home?"

"Why are you displeased?" Castiel asks, watching as Dean backs away, going to his bed and pulling a shirt over his head.

"Yeah, see, staring conversations in the middle means I got no clue what you're talkin' about," Dean says.

Castiel replies, "Your scars. The aches and pains your body had before Hell. Why do you miss them?"

Dean pauses in the act of throwing clothes out his duffle bag. "You really don't get it?" He turns his head to stare at Castiel. "In your true form—do you get hurt?"

Castiel nods. "We can be wounded. God heals us instantaneously."

"But angels still die," Dean says.

"If the wound is bad enough, yes," Castiel admits.

Dean sighs and flips the duffle over. He roots through the pile for a moment before grabbing a pair of boxer shorts. He glances at Castiel then says, "Oh, fuck it," and drops his towel to pull them on

Castiel asks, "Why are you displeased? I do not understand. You are as close to physical perfection as there can be among humans."

Dean shoves all the clothes back into the bag. "Those scars," he answers, "the aches and pains—they showed where I'd been." He tosses the towel into the bathroom and runs a hand through his hair. "That I'd survived."

He paces from the bathroom door to the main door and back. "Thirty years," he mutters, raising his voice to continue, "I knew where I'd gotten every scar. Why my left knee hurt, why my right elbow sometimes twinged. And now all I got is an angel tattoo." He stops and looks over, raising his hand to his shoulder. "This body is all new," he says, meeting Castiel's eyes. "It's got my face and my memories and all the training I learned over a lifetime—but there's no evidence I've lived."

He shrugs. "It's stupid."

"No," Castiel responds instantly. "I—I did not know such things are important." He ponders for a moment, watching Dean examine his hands. "I cannot return them to you."

"It's fine, dude," Dean says. "Forget it."

Castiel walks over and inclines his head. "Forgive me, Dean," he asks.

Dean laughs, raising Castiel's head with a gentle, no-longer calloused hand. "You saved me from Hell," he says. "And I'm a little pissy 'cause I have the best body in the world?" He shakes his head. "There's nothing to forgive you for, Cas."

Feeling Sam's approach, Castiel knows he must go. "Thank you for your explanation," he tells Dean and departs.

Humans are the most intricate of all Father's creations. By far, they are the most confusing. Castiel has watched them continuously for two thousand human years and barely scratched the surface. He knows he could shadow Dean, in particular, for the rest of the man's life and learn something new every moment.

_This fascination is beneath you_, Uriel says from across the world. _Remember that they are a fallen species. _

Castiel ignores him. He replays Dean's actions and words in his mind, wondering what it would be like to have scars that showed he'd lived.


	129. untitled 2

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU pre-series

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 55

**Point of view**: third

* * *

Bobby opens the door. Sam Winchester stands there, blood on his hands, and murder in his eyes.

Backing away, Bobby raises Colt's masterpiece, and Sam grins.

"Too little, too late, Uncle Bobby," he says. "Been awhile, though. Think we should catch up?"

Bobby pulls the trigger.

"Yeah," Sam says. "I think we should."


	130. fluidity

**Title**: fluidity

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: um… future!fic?

**Pairings**: none stated

**Wordcount**: 125

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"Send me back," Sam says. "Let me change things."

"The past cannot be rewritten," Castiel replies. "What's done is done."

Sam scoffs. "Like Hell," he says. "If you don't help, I'll find someone who will."

Castiel hesitates, his gaze flicking to Dean and away. "You will..." he begins, pauses, starts over. "If I bend time for you," he asks, "what will you do?"

Turning, Sam looks at his brother. "I'll stop this," he whispers. "I'll keep it from ever happening."

Castiel closes his eyes, praying to Father for compassion and understanding; he reaches for the End, places his fingers on the End's brow, and flies backward through the ages.

When Sam throws himself away from Castiel's touch, Castiel prays to a new Lord and waits.


	131. untitled 3

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 205

**Point of view**: third

* * *

When Lilith cast Ruby out of the blonde meatsuit, she sent her to the farthest reaches of Hell, a dark and cold corner, where not even the endless fires touched. Ruby shivered there, unable to count the days, until one of Alistair's own handmaidens came for her.

"He wants you," the shadow growled. "Go."

With permission granted, she returned to the light, soaking in the warmth with glee until it burned her.

Alistair turned and grinned as she approached. "Sir?" she asked, glancing around.

"Ruby, dear," he purred. "Got a job for you."

His hand lashed out and gripped her, shoving her onto the table and strapping her down with will alone. This was his realm, his playground, and even Lucifer had been apprehensive when in Alistair's presence.

"Please," Ruby begged. "I don't know—"

"Kiddo," Alistair called to someone Ruby couldn't see. "Wanna come play with little pretty?"

She turned her head, searching the shadows, and when he stepped into the light, Ruby whimpered.

Dean Winchester. But not the Dean she had known. This one's eyes were black, and he was coated in blood. "No," she begged. "No, please—"

Alistair laughed and Dean didn't even crack a grin.

Handing off the knife, Alistair said, "Playtime."


	132. untitled 4

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 530

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

From the moment they met, Missouri knew Sam would kill her.

She could not see the future, not really, only the maybes. And in every world she peered into, her death was at the hands of Mary Winchester's secondborn. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow, sometimes it cemented his power and sometimes was one last blow before his own death.

In none of those worlds, though, did she ever see Dean. That made her wonder.

o0o

She fixed tea and sipped it at the kitchen counter, looking out the window, remembering. She settled in Lawrence all those years ago because Deanna moved here, to be with Samuel. She stayed after their murders for their daughter, angry and heartbroken Mary. And then she stayed just long enough to tell John the truth.

Dean had his grandmother's fire and his grandfather's determination. He had Mary's eyes.

And Sammy, young and so very innocent—he had Evil's blood in him.

Missouri peered into the future and knew they'd meet again.

She left Lawrence to go home, where she stayed for nearly twenty years. Then she went back to Lawrence.

o0o

Mary still walked in her old house and Missouri monitored the situation, just to make sure Mary didn't grow violent. When the poltergeist from Azazel's attack began acting up, she knew Mary's boys would be coming back.

And looking at Sam, she saw the end given human form, hesitant and wary, unknowing. So innocent, still. But not for long. And Dean—Mary's smile, Mary's eyes, Mary's mother's boundless heart.

Looking at Sam, Missouri saw her death.

o0o

They left Lawrence and Mary finally moved on. Missouri kept up her psychic business and waited for what she'd known was coming since she first looked at a baby, twenty-odd years ago.

The future is not set in stone, unchangeable; it ebbs and flows. Every action has an impact, and those two Winchesters—they are intricately tied into tomorrow.

Missouri listened to the air currents and tossed the dice and read the messages no one else saw.

o0o

John traded himself, Sam died, and Dean went to Hell.

John escaped the Pit, Sam was resurrected, and Dean was raised from Perdition by an angel.

Missouri sat in her den, Isis purring in her lap, and counted down the days.

o0o

A single Seal shattered, two, half a dozen, then thirty-five. Angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, and Mary's sons in the middle, Deanna's grandchildren, the damnation and salvation connected by blood.

Finally, only one Sea remained before the Beast walked free, Lucifer in human form.

"Take to the wild, baby," Missouri told Isis. "You won't be able to help me. Go out and survive."

Isis rubbed against her chin, patted her cheek lightly, and vanished into the night, a tortoiseshell queen to witness the end of the word.

o0o

Missouri did not ward her house. She baked cookies and set them out to cool, then flipped through her great-great-grandmother's Holy Book, still stained by a slave's blood.

_Death does not ride a pale horse_, Missouri thought, _and the Beast will come wrapped in Innocence's skin. _

When Sam knocked politely on the door, Missouri never once considered not letting him in.


	133. untitled 5

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 70

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_Demon_, Castiel hisses.

_Angel_, Alistair cackles. _Come to play?_

_No,_ he answers, wings flared aloft, the creator's holy light in his fathomless eyes. _I have come to do my duty. _

_Ah_, Hell's chief tormenter drawls. _Here to punish me for what-all I did to your boy. Lust'll tarnish you, pretty. Be careful._

Alistair doesn't dodge the angel's strike. He smirks and laughs and knows he's won, anyway.

Hell rejoices when angels fall.


	134. untitled 6

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 290

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Alistair heard the call and answered out of pure disbelief. An angel—and _that_ angel, in particular—summoning a demon? Summoning _Alistair_?

"You rang?" he said, staying in his true form.

The angel stood just outside the circle, edged in light. "I have need of your assistance," he said, head bowed, wings wrapped around him.

Alistair laughed.

o0o

The angel's plan was simple: catch Death and destroy him forever.

"Are you _serious_?" Alistair demanded. "That's fucking _insane_."

Grimly, the angel said, "Tell me now if you can aid me. If you cannot, I will send you back to the Pit."

Alistair studied him, the light steadily glowing dimmer and dimmer, and smiled. "Falling, brother?"

The angel snarled, wings flaring. "I am not your brother."

"No, not yet," Alistair mused. "But if you do this—even the attempt is enough to damn you. What would dear old Daddy say?"

"Now, _demon_," the angel hissed. "Can you aid me or not?"

"Of course," Alistair drawled. "I'm an old friend of Deathy-poo. We go way back."

The angel cocked his head. "Then why would you aid me?"

Alistair looked at him, raising a brow. "Seriously," he said, "How have you lasted this long?"

o0o

Death is ancient, second only to Life in age. But his scythe kills anything save God.

"Last chance to back out," Alistair told the angel.

"I will not retreat from this," he answered. "I cannot and—" He paused, back straightening. "I cannot."

Alistair smirked. He did so love it when God's little soldiers tarnished their shiny halos. And killing Death himself, well—that just meant he would really have forever to play.

He nodded to the angel and started chanting.

Castiel didn't glow at all anymore.


	135. Stained Dove

**Title**: Stained Dove

**Disclaimer**: the boys aren't mine

**Warnings**: depressing futurefic

**Pairings**: gen

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 424  
**Point of view**: third

* * *

Somewhere, there is an empty church. Sunlight filters through the stained glass images of doves, crosses, and hope; but despite that, inside it is still dark, lonely.

There is no priest, no preacher, no reverend, no father. There is no congregation, no flock, no parishioners. There are no caretakers for the sanctuary or the surrounding grounds. The paint is fading, the walls peeling, the church beat up and aching. The town has long since sunk into the countryside, packed up and moved on, leaving behind only the small building of God's House.

Sometimes, weddings can be seen in the church, and funerals. Baptisms. They are swift and lovely, flickering in and out. They are quiet and soft, caught in the flow of time, more gentle now than they were when they were first seen.

But no one is watching.

Inside the desolate sanctuary, there is a candle. It is old, merely a finger's width tall, sunken in. To look upon it, in its tattered glory, is to invite sadness. It is pale; once white, now faded to a dull gray.

This is a candle suited for the church. They have been together for some years, though their end approaches. Wind whistles through the sad sanctuary, lightly caresses the candle, plays with the small flame on the wick.

The small tongue of flame winks at the ceiling, seems to laugh at a joke only they know.

o0o

Somewhere, there is an empty church. It rests on a hill overlooking what once was a town. There is a candle inside that has been lit for years, since a man walked in and opened his lighter. No one in the town knew his name, but the reverend walked up to him as he stood before the altar, head bowed.

"Can I help you?" Reverend Walker asked.

Sometimes, the words still echo in God's House. The stranger replied quietly, "No, I don't think that you can."

Since that day decades ago, the town has withered and died. Families have moved out, on. People whispered of a curse, of God turning His head away; the reverend had no words of comfort and he left with them.

The world moved on, leaving behind the church and the candle, and the memory of life, of dancing, of singing. Left behind a flickering flame and a phantasm, waiting.

The lighter is flicked open and shut, calloused fingers brushing through the flame. The church is empty but for this lone specter, left behind as the world moved on.

Waiting for one who never comes.


	136. sit upon the throne

Title: sit upon the throne

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for 4.16; AU

Pairings: none stated

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 660

Point of view: third

* * *

"You know the end is coming?" Missouri asks through the phone, stirring her cocoa with a small spoon.

"'course I do, sister," Pamela answers, watering her hyacinth. "We all know what to do."

o0o

"You should have told me," Bobby hisses into the phone. "Damnit, Missouri. Why the fuck didn't you ever tell me?"

"Calm down," she says. "It doesn't matter now. Everything has a purpose-just cling to that."

o0o

So many of them die, and Missouri crochets every one, weaving the story for those yet to come. So many of them die and she mourns the losses, but she has seen the future. She knows how this all will end, and those who have gone on-

She smoothes out the cloth and knows the pain to be worth it.

o0o

The visitors, nurses, and doctors look away as she walks past. Even Sam doesn't see her as he takes a break to fetch his brother a cup of coffee. She watches him go, back so weary, nearly crushed beneath the weight of his secrets and lies and the demon blood pooling in his gut.

_Stay strong, Sam_, she thinks to him. _It's not at all what you expect_.

o0o

The angel lurks in shadow, staring at her with hard, unforgiving eyes. His kind have never liked hers. Missouri assesses him, canting her head to look into his tomorrow.

_Don't be so judgmental, brother_, she says in the language of spirit, words older than the primordial soup the Creator fashioned Earth out of, taking a small bit of delight in his flinch. _We're not so different anymore. Welcome to life_.

o0o

_Do not touch him_, the angel commands, thunder and earthquakes in his tone. Her head rings with the sound. This is his true voice, his true form. She can see his vessel resting in a motel room not ten miles from the hospital.

_Things are happening_, she murmurs, tracing Dean's bruised and bloodied cheek with a finger. _You cannot stop it, and you cannot slow it, Castiel. _She glances up at him, at the power coiled and waiting to strike, to smite her down into dust_. You must choose-this broken, breaking man, or your Creator. _

o0o

No one sees her leave, will have any memory of her passing. Sam, for all his potential and power, is still just a boy. And Castiel can remember the first War, but is still so young.

Death waits for her at the entrance, his pale horse snorting behind him. _Well?_ Death asks and she smiles.

o0o

The plan is in motion-not set in stone, for nothing is, but close enough that even an act of God could not change it now.

Humans are fragile, and demons and angels, and even streets of gold can fragment in the clouds.

o0o

Dean is sleeping when she goes to see him again. Sam is showering in their motel room and Castiel is wrestling with himself, with what he knows, suspects, and feels. They are all children with too heavy a load, but that is necessary. Distasteful, children fighting an adult's war, but required.

She touches him again, soothing away the memories of Alistair with the feel of Mary's hands. _You will forgive me_, she whispers to his soul, to the gaping wound still bleeding out. _You will understand, and you will be thankful._ She kisses his brow, leaving a mark there that only her kind can see.

o0o

Famine, Pestilence, and War wait at her house when she goes back to Lawrence. She sends them back to sleep because Death alone is needed. _Not yet_, she tells them.

But Death rides, taking angels and demons, and skirting around those who bear her mark.

o0o

"Missouri!" Bobby hollers through the phone. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Peace, brother," she says, scratching Zoroaster's ears. "I have it all in hand."

o0o

When the Creator looks to his chessboard again, Missouri says, _Checkmate_.


	137. territorial

**Title**: territorial

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.17; I assume, AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 265

**Point of view**: third

* * *

He turns and there stands the angel, glorious and bright with Creator's grace. "Wondered when you'd turn up," he says, centering his gravity and preparing for a fight.

"You will not go near the Winchesters again," the angel proclaims, voice ringing with authority from On High.

And it might work if he didn't have tendrils in the heavens and didn't know all those vicious rumors working their way through the winged.

"They did catch my fancy," he drawls, smirking at the way the angel stiffens, those silver wings flaring. "That Dean, man—in all my years, that boy's somethin' else. You know?" He licks his lips. "And Sam… he's got potential, that one."

The angel stalks forward, eyes dangerous. Lightning sparks at his fingertips.

First the Winchesters, now this punk—it's the most fun he's had in years. He's really gotta call Coyote up, share stories with the kid.

The angel hisses, "You will stay away from them or I will smite you into dust."

He laughs outright at that. "I'm Chaos given flesh, kiddo," he says. "I'm the spirit of Earth, mother and father to anarchy and confusion, and I'm just as important as you are in the scheme of things. You can't kill me anymore'n I can kill you." He spreads his arms and smiles widely. "I'm Trickster King." He winks. "Your boy's back in the fight now. You should thank me."

The angel's jaw clenches and his eyes flash holy fire. Whatever he wants to say, he holds it in and light flashes as he goes.

And Ansani laughs, loud and long.


	138. and then there was one

**Title**: and then there was one

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The vessel's mouth drips blood. Castiel can feel the body weakening around him. He strains for freedom, to escape the flesh and muscle prison, but something holds firm and he beats uselessly against it.

"Tell me, angel," the demon coos, its vessel's eyes flashing golden. "Do you know the phrase _red-herring_?"

Castiel's vessel's left arm snaps, hanging useless at the elbow. He does not make a sound.

"All'a you, so concerned with Sammy. Wonderin' what's the plan with Sam, earnest, powerful Sam." The demon cackles, spinning its knife. "That _was_ the plan," it tells him gleefully.

"And it worked perfectly."


	139. Earth, I will not be thine

**Title**: Earth, I shall not be thine

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Ovid.

**Warnings**: speculation for season four; somewhat abstract

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 145

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_It doesn't matter what you choose, Castiel_, Dean murmurs, _so long as you make a choice._

_Dean. _Castiel's voice is gentle. _Be careful of what you say_.

Without looking, Dean stretches his arm and touches the sky. _Is it hard?_ he asks_. I don't remember blind obedience._

Castiel longs to comfort his favorite of all beings, but Dean is beyond his grasp now. Dean is beyond anyone, even God, Castiel admits, though it skirts blasphemy. _Dean_, he calls. _Dean_.

Dean does not look at him. _Am I dreaming? I don't remember the sky being so cold._

_Take my hand, Dean,_ Castiel says. _I can help, if you let me._

Dean turns to him, his expression more serene than Castiel has ever seen. _I made my choice_, he says. _What will yours be?_

Castiel lunges, but this is Dean's dreamscape and he vanishes into the sky.


	140. we sit with the gods

**Title**: we sit with the gods and design ourselves

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Dorothy Gilman.

**Warnings**: future!fic AU, I'm thinking

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Castiel does not hesitate, on the very last day of all. He wings his way to the brothers, stands at their backs, eyes on their foes and swords in his hands.

He fights for the world he's come to love, for the warm ocean breeze and the dry mountain air. He stabs and spins for a meadow of wildflowers, for does and their fawns, for lions and eagles, for whales and stingrays. He bleeds for an infant's first cry and a horse's first gallop, for a peasant in China and the President of the United States. He gasps for a termite mound in Africa and a squid in the Marinas Trench, for all life, innocent and guilty, dying and unborn.

Finally, the horde stops coming, all of Hell's soldiers either dead or surrendered. There is light to the east, soft and gentle and warm, and the brothers stand bathed in its glow.

It is done, the battle over, Hell defeated and Life saved. He turns to look at the brothers, at what remains of Hell at their feet, cowering and cowed.

Sam says softly, "Heaven's turn, now."

Dean smiles, turning to look at Castiel.

It is a relief to bow.


	141. popcorn and steak

**Title**: popcorn and steak

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: future!fic AU

**Pairings**: a smidge of possible Sam/Jo

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 400

**Point of view**: third

**Dedication**: ghani_atreides, to the prompt Sam and Jo share some popcorn

* * *

Jo swung through whenever she was within a hundred miles. She knew Sam didn't want to see her, didn't want to see anyone from his old life. She also knew that it was best if someone checked in. With his abilities, he needed to be watched.

Bobby couldn't handle it, not after--well, he was old, now. Missouri couldn't get within three states of Sam; she described the headache as the worst pain she'd ever felt(including childbirth with no anesthesia) times eternity plus one. And Mom had a whole passel of young hunters, trying to impress the world with their awesomeness. Everyone else who knew the Winchesters before had already died, so it fell onto Jo.

She didn't like talking to Sam, so she stood at a distance whenever possible and just watched. He lived at a church, as the groundskeeper. Pastor Jim's old place, actually. He kept to himself, walked the property, read some of Bobby's books, and visited the chapel.

Jo had to admit, sad as it was, it was better this way. He needed to be alone. He was too dangerous, but she and Mom and Bobby and Missouri couldn't let him be killed. That would be--she could never think of an apt description. After everything he'd done, everything he was... and still, killing him would be worse.

Whenever she did talk to him, she had no idea which part she'd get--the angry survivor, the broken brother, the happy normal man who worked the earth. Her favorite was definitely the man; he always smiled and invited her to supper. Sometimes, she even went.

Jo had no idea(and neither did the others; she asked) whether Sam the groundskeeper remembered or not. The survivor and brother did, but she couldn't figure out who had control the most. Whenever she did stop in to talk with Sam, their conversation never drifted to the past.

On her last trip through, Sam asked her to go to a movie. She had time, so she said yes. They shared a large popcorn and then went out to a steakhouse. She even kissed his cheek goodnight, and he smiled.

Two weeks later, she wasn't quite quick enough to dodge a poltergeist.

When she woke up without a body, Dean Winchester was waiting with the softest smile she'd ever seen on his face. "Thank you," he said and led her into the light.


	142. I'm not a soul you need to save

**Title**: I'm not a soul you need to save

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Roseanne Cash.

**Warnings**: Um. Pretty friggin' dark. Torture.

**Pairings**: mentions of fraternal wincest; one-sided Gordon/Dean

**Rating**: R

**Point** **of** **view**: first

**Wordcount**: 500

**Notes**: When I should be writing papers about spousal abuse, I write this instead. My brain has problems.

* * *

I went to Hell with the taste of Heaven in my mouth.

Hush, hush, sweetheart. Don't cry. You're a good girl, aren't you? Be quiet.

That's better.

Now… oh, that stubborn, stupid boy. I could'a saved 'im, you know. I wanted to save him. If I could'a gotten him away from that monstrous brother of his—but no. He didn't want it. Didn't want me, not when he had Sammy's cock up his ass.

Shh, baby girl. Just hush. It doesn't hurt, does it? Not yet. No, I'm bein' gentle as can be.

His blood was so warm, so filling. I got a tiny taste and I'd'a killed the world for more.

But that fucking brother of his—territorial and shit. He cut off my head with razor wire, believe that? Razor wire. Shit, that hurt.

And all I could think, what I still crave—I had his brother's blood in my mouth. My fangs in his neck, my tongue digging deep. I could'a gone all the way to the center, made that boy pretty forever. Mine forever. We'd'a been good together, you know.

Oh, that's a good girl. There it is. Sweet spot. Scream for me. So pretty. Does it hurt when I twist? I'll take that as a yes. I'm still learning, you know.

I used to hunt. You know that, right? We met up there, I think. Did I kill you? I hunted vampires, mostly. I was good at killin' them, till that fucking brat decided some weren't evil. Weren't monsters. _What's that boy know about monsters?_ I thought then. Him, with that floppy college hair and innocent eyes, and that brother he didn't know how to appreciate.

Let me tell you, I appreciated Dean Winchester. I wanted him. A perfect little soldier boy, always aimin' to please. I could'a been his daddy, taken him firm in my hand. Made him mine.

That's it, sweetheart. Writhe so good. Beg for me. Maybe I'll stop… maybe I'll let you go, move on down the line. You wanna go? Play with someone else for awhile?

You know who's at the end, don't you?

I died tasting him, craving him, and I spent so long on the rack, where you are now, little pretty. I spent years at Alistair's mercy.

He's got a playmate now, a pupil. Pretty boy, that one.

What, you want me to stop? Sure about that? I've been beneath his knife. I've whimpered and writhed, and—oh, it was such perfection, the way he cut me open.

I'd've made him mine, back when we were alive, if it weren't for that brother of his, little Sammy. But here, here in the Pit with Alistair, he's the master. I get that, see. I don't like it, and don't you dare tell 'im I said that, but… he sure is gorgeous with a blade.

How long was it before he broke? Longer'n me, I think. Sure learned a lot, though, didn't he?

Thought so, sweetheart. Scream for me.


	143. he lays down his head

**Title**: he lays down his head on your pillow at night

**Disclaimer**: not my characters. title from Allison Krauss.

**Warnings**: future!fic; dark!boys; AU after 4.16; incomplete and run-on sentences

**Pairings**: mentions of Sam/Ruby; Sam/Dean

**Rating**: Rish

**Wordcount**: 1315

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: for cuddleyscorpio, for the Antimas exchange at sammessiah; prompt was _Sam and Dean, Sam/Dean, Ruby, keep it exciting! Happy endings, tortured souls, green_

**More notes**: thanks to dreamlittleyo for reading over this.

* * *

You gave him his crown, his scepter, his throne, and his kingdom to rule as he sees fit. You trained him, taught him, loved him. You sacrificed yourself as a distraction and as bait.

And he never looked at you like he does his brother. He never stared at you with such wonder, with such adoration. You went to Hell, too, but that isn't as important as the fact that _Dean_ did.

Dean. Damned Dean Winchester. A history with Sam you can never equal, shared blood and iron and memories. Sam's drunk your blood down like wine, craved it like manna, and he still goes running to Dean, still watches Dean with hero-worship, still stares at Dean like Dean'll vanish if he looks away.

You killed angels for him, a dozen of them with spells and that sword forged by Lucifer himself, back before he'd been born into humanskin, back before Azazel made his plan and God turned away. You killed angels, burned entire towns to dust, cursed a handful of families to the tenth generation. You gave him Lucifer's sword to insure Hell followed its master, the glory of the Fallen, once Heaven's most beautiful son, imbued into a human child.

Sam. Your Sam. Your king and your lover, your darling, your boy. You crowned him. You've worked tirelessly since that Devil's Gate opened, and even longer, down in the bowels of Hell, your plan and Azazel's, hidden from Lilith and God.

And Dean, always and forever there to fuck everything up. He couldn't even stay in Hell, out of the way as Alistair's pet and plaything. No, he had to say _yes_, had to fall off the rack and break the first Seal, had to be saved by an angel, of all things. An _angel_. No angel had been to Earth since the last time Lucifer was there, and an entire flock of them laid siege of Hell and one actually ripped Dean from Alistair's grasp and burst out of the Pit, shoving Dean back into Life.

It's just not fair. You've done everything, were everything to Sam, better than Dean. And it's _Dean_ he has next to him, Dean he favors above all else. Dean the beloved, Dean the enforcer, Dean with golden-black eyes and a knife always dripping Alistair's blood.

Dean, saved by the angels after having been Alistair's favorite, and no one has forgotten that.

You gave Sam his crown, his scepter, his throne. You practically hand-wrapped Hell for him, with sparkly paper and a shiny bow. You fed him your blood, taught him to destroy with a thought. You nurtured him through the pain and brought Lucifer back from nightmares into reality. He's yours, your BoyKing, the master of Hell returned to bright, Technicolor life.

And it's not enough. _You're_ not enough. He's got Dean, darkened and deadlier than he'd ever been before Hell. He's got Dean, who frightens even you, now, who smirks in silence and licks the edge of that bone-knife, and bares his throat to Sam with delight. Sam, his only master. Sam, _your_ Sam, who never stops touching Dean like he hasn't touched you since the night he killed Alistair.

He didn't really need you after that. Alistair had been second only to Lilith, and only Lucifer had been her better. With Alistair gone, it was a matter of days.

You pace in your room, in Sam's palace, on the coast of what used to be the Gulf of Mexico, back when places had human names. You planned this, with Azazel, and it's nothing at all like you'd thought it be. When Dean broke that first Seal, everything spiraled out of control and Sam slipped from your grasp, back into Dean's waiting, willing hands.

He should have stayed in Hell, on the rack. He should have been a gibbering mess of souljuice and nothing else—that was the plan. You trained Sam while his brother burned in agony, screamed in rage, suffered for eternity and more, and when Lucifer finally came to the fore, _nothing_ would remain of the Winchesters.

You curl your hands into fists, nails biting your skin. This isn't at all what you wanted, Dean at his side, his perfect little soldier, his guardian, who all the others shy away from in fear. It is _your_ position, and Dean wears it beautifully, those eyes glinting at you like fire, like he's waiting for the moment to strike and you won't even hear a whisper of it coming.

The ocean is soothing, salt air no longer a problem since Sam remade the world in his image. It isn't Hell and it isn't Heaven. And it isn't Earth anymore. It's a thing entirely new and you'd be happy, if Dean fucking _Winchester_ weren't where you should be, getting licked and kissed and fucked in your place. And his eyes and his _smirk_, everywhere you turn, and him holding that knife—

You remember that knife. You _made_ that knife, and then Alistair sliced you up with it, _pretty little girl, don't you scream so pretty._

You want to howl, to rend and to tear, to shatter the walls of this world Sam made. You want to rip out Dean's eyes, carve out his lips, burn him and break him, make him bloody, with all his insides pouring out, and leaving Sam yours.

A knock at the door. He stands there, Dean's little pet angel, and he says, "Samuel requires your presence."

You smirk at him, at the mighty warrior fallen so low. His wings are long gone, and he doesn't shine at all anymore. For a moment, you want to ask if he misses the sky, misses his kind. The moment passes.

Sam's waiting in the throne-room, Dean at his side, with those eyes and those lips and your own knife.

You stand before them, proud. You stand before them unafraid and unbowed. You taught him when he was a whelp, a boy, angry and hurting and helpless to do anything but glare at a demon.

"Ruby," Sam pronounces, fingers tangled in the cord of Dean's amulet. "I have to say, you're a disappointment."

Those words would have hurt, once upon a time. You don't care anymore

Dean is motionless, eyes on you, teeth bared in a grin. You remember the man he was, frightened of the flames, who so wearily asked _There's no way to save me from the Pit, is there?_

There is nothing of that man in him now.

Sam's eyes flare sun-bright and Dean's smirk is harder than diamond. You scream and writhe, and when you come to, Dean is there, with the knife, and you feel metal burning into your back.

"Hey, pretty," Dean purrs. "Let's have fun, huh?"

It should have been you at Sam's side. Sam's beloved consort, the only equal to Sam in existence since Hell bowed and Heaven fell.

"It should have been me," you tell Dean, with his golden-black eyes and ever-present smirk.

The smirk drops. "No," he answers, trailing the blade of your knife along your cheek. "It was _never_ gonna be you, sweetheart."

You know he'll have you screaming in minutes and that you won't stop for years.

"By the way, Ruby," he tells you, opening you up, "I should thank you." He twists something inside you and it sears. "So, thanks."

Damn him. Damn them _both_, your Sam and his fucking brother. _You_ did this. _You_ made this. Made them both into _this_, these parodies of everything they once were.

"Hey, Cas," Dean calls. "You should come try this, dude. Once you've had a demon screaming, you're never the same."

When Dean's pet angel slices you open, you don't have any tears left to cry. Shivering and shaking, whimpering beneath Alistair's prodigy and his pet, you can almost—_almost_—taste French fries on your tongue and feel Sam's skin between your teeth.

---

You take the knife from Dean's hand and look down at the demon. Dean grins, patting your back, and murmurs, "There's a good boy."

Heaven is a vague memory, easily lost in the folds of your mind, in the moments since then at Dean's feet, his side, his back. Dean is everything, and this creature whimpering on the rack will only ever be a threat.

"Sammy gave her to me, Cas," Dean says. His eyes are bright, black edged in gold, and some of their previous hazel is there, too. "Told me to have fun." He stares down at the demon, and adds, almost wistfully, "She wanted him. Still wants him. And me outta the way." He looks you right in the eye. "I give her to you."

Your fingers fold around the blade, tracing the sharp, cold edge. There is power in this knife.

This demon wants to hurt Dean, to destroy him, take his place.

Heaven is a vague memory and all you dream of now is Dean. With delicate precision, you make the first slice.


	144. to the end, they remain

**Title**: to the end, they remain

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Laurence Binyon.

**Warnings**: um… abstractly spoils 4.20?

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PGish

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 100

**Notes**: What happens in Heaven at the end of 4.20

* * *

_We did what we must_, Azrael said.

_I know_, Gabriel replied. _But I still—_

Azrael interrupted, _Do not, Brother. He has a plan and it is good. _

Gabriel looked away. _Yes_, he whispered. _He has a plan and it is good because He is good. _

Michael did not speak. He kept his eyes closed and his wings tightly folded, and he stood in silence.

Eons passed in minutes and Azrael turned to his brothers. _We have much to do,_ he said.

_Yes_, Gabriel said again.

Finally, Michael spoke. _The plan_, he murmured, spreading his wings. _Let us go to war_.


	145. Teach me, he said, how to care

**Title**: Teach me, he said—how to care

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy.

**Warnings**: takes place during 4.20

**Pairings**: pre-Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 385

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Castiel is angry and ashamed. He dispatches the demons while in the daughter—_Claire_, she tells him, watching from the corner of her mind. _My name is Claire_—and that action brings him a small measure of relief. But there are still huge spirals of emotion warring in him.

His superiors meant to bury his burgeoning feelings. He cannot allow such weakness.

_Daddy_, Claire cries as Castiel kneels next to his previous vessel, the man he wore for nearly a year. That is a long time for a human.

Castiel senses Dean and Sam Winchester, knows Dean will not understand why he must pull back now. Jimmy begs Castiel to take him instead of Claire, to let the girl have her life.

He thinks of Dean as he changes vessels, as he fills Jimmy to the brim. _Sleep_, he tells the man. _Be at peace_.

Standing, Castiel leaves Claire and Amelia with but one look. When Jimmy wakes, he will give his vessel the image.

"Cas!" Dean calls. "What were you gonna tell me?"

Angry and ashamed, Castiel says, "I serve Heaven, not men." He looks Dean in the eye. "And I do not serve you."

He desires to go back, to explain. To tell Dean he is not at fault here. But he must keep his distance for now, until something new catches Heaven's fancy. He has gotten too close; Heaven was right to rebuke him. But knowing that and accepting it—

He cannot be Cas anymore. He is not to perch on Dean's shoulder; he is a guide and a guardian. He is an angel of the Lord. He cannot be Dean's friend, no matter—not now. After the war, if they both survive…

But he must become a weapon of God now. He is Castiel, not Cas. He is a warrior, duty-bound, created to obey. He will obey.

Castiel seals away his emotions, shoring up the walls Heaven put in place. He cannot afford weakness. And friendship with a human—he admitted doubt to Dean. He showed Dean how to get around God's mandate. He skirted the line, nearly Falling. For a flawed man. For Alistair's favored pupil, his prodigy.

He will be Castiel, warrior and weapon, guide and guardian. And if they both survive the war…

If they both survive.


	146. warm blood breaking out like a rose

**Title**: warm blood breaking out like a rose

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season four; slight AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 580

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Note**: written the afternoon before 4.20 aired, unspoiled. Pure speculation at that point, now rendered AUish

* * *

Michael delivers the summons himself. He could have sent any angel, from Gabriel—the true messenger, after all—to the youngest cherub, but it has been so long since he left the Heavens… a war is being fought, perhaps the greatest in existence, maybe even the last. He has yet to fight in it, by Father's decree. But he has not yet been forbidden to deliver a message, so he goes.

Gabriel and Raphael join him on his flight out of Heaven. _Be careful_, Gabriel tells him. _Our Fallen brother is clever_. Raphael warns, _You must be wary for his traps_.

Michael thanks them for the sentiment. For a moment he wonders who else beside Ananchel is resentful that only they have stood in Father's true presence. He shakes off the worry and arrows in on the child. All angels feel the pull, Michael knows. The Winchester boy—Alistair's favored pupil, a prodigy with a blade. Maybe if so many hadn't been avoiding him, someone would have seen Uriel's treachery. But all angels are so apprehensive at any hint of disobedience, of temptation—both Winchesters are temptation. Even Michael can't deny it. That is why Castiel had allowed Uriel to lead him.

Castiel meets him outside the Winchester hotel room. Both are in their true form, invisible to a human gaze. Michael studies his younger brother, noting how weary Castiel looks.

_You are to return home_, Michael tells him.

_I will not leave them_, Castiel replies. _I will not leave Dean_. He tenses, expecting a rebuke.

_Why are they more important than a Command from On High?_ Michael asks.

Castiel scoffs. He has been among humans too long. _I can no longer trust Commands given to me_, he says.

Michael nods_. I understand that, Brother._ He pauses. _Do you know who I am?_ He has been cloistered with Father for a long time, after all.

Castiel's shock is humorous. _You are the Archangel Michael_, he answers carefully, before his gaze sharpens. _Aren't you?_

_Yes_, Michael says. _I will guard your humans while you are gone. Castiel. This Command must be obeyed._

_What is the Command?_ Castiel asks.

Michael looks him right in the eye, letting the full weight of his age and power settle on his younger brother. _Father wishes to speak with you,_ he says. _Face to face_.

Castiel ceases all motion. _What?_

_Go home,_ Michael says._ Speak with Him. I will be with your humans._

Castiel glances to the door, behind which the Winchester brothers slumber. Michael touches their dreams for a moment—_bloodfearbladedeath_ and _firebrotherpowerblood_—soothing them into quiet peace.

_You may be the Archangel Michael,_ Castiel murmurs, preparing himself for flight_. I may be more of a scribe than a warrior. But if you cause harm to come upon them, I will_— He pauses, glancing up. _I will be wrathful_, he finishes.

It is not the greatest threat Michael has ever heard. He went toe to toe with Sammael as his elder brother turned to Lucifer. He fought both Moloch and Beelzebub at once.

Castiel's threat would be laughable—should, by all rights, be laughable. But he is sincere. There is no hesitation in him. And that is a dangerous thing.

He has been among humans too long.

He waits until Michael acknowledges his oath with a nod and then launches into the sky.

_What will you tell him, Father?_ Michael asks.

Father whispers, _Hush, my boy. That would ruin the ending. _


	147. child of dust

**Title**: child of dust

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 265

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Uriel on Dean, I think, he's angry that Dean's tempted Castiel or was chosen by God or stands in the way of Lucifer or all of the above.

* * *

"Hello, mudmonkey," Uriel says, clinging tight to the emotions swirling in him. Emotions are a human weakness; he harnesses them, absorbs them, moves on. He will not fall prey to such a human fallacy.

Humans. If Father were capable of a mistake, those creations would be it. But Father is perfect. Therefore, humans must be perfect.

Uriel sneers as Dean Winchester spins to face him. This mudmonkey, Castiel's new favorite--it is the worst smear of all. Dean Winchester is not the answer to any problem, especially one he caused by being weak.

"Ah, dickless," Dean says, standing up to his full height. "What can I do for ya this fine evenin'?"

Uriel longs to smite him from existence, to return him to the dust from which his ancestor came. But Father has a plan, even if Uriel cannot see it. Cannot fathom it.

(Lucifer was right, wasn't he, all those eons ago. No angel should bow to a human.)

"Rest, Dean," Uriel commands. Mudmonkeys are nothing compared to an angel, and Dean is asleep instantly.

This human, the instigator of the endtimes--Uriel could thank him for opening the first lock to Lucifer(Sammael, he was called before, Sammael the MorningStar, so beautiful, so proud, pure in a way no other of Father's creations has ever been). Uriel should thank him, but he chokes on the thought.

Dean is temptation, a weakness Uriel cannot afford to let Castiel have. Castiel is necessary to the plan--he is Uriel's brother. Just as Dean is Castiel's favorite, so is Castiel Uriel's.

"Rest, Dean," Uriel repeats. "Rest and remember Alistair."


	148. Jesus was an only son

**Title**: Jesus was an only son

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from The Smashing Pumpkins.

**Warnings**: future!fic; spoilers for all of season four

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Heaven feels it when Dean Winchester breaks. The golden streets tremble. A few of the younger cherubs whimper and even Michael has a thrill of fear along his spine.

All eyes turn to Father-Creator-God where He stands in the center of Paradise. His smile is serene, and His serenity calms all but his generals.

Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Azrael know better.

o0o

Heaven feels it when Lucifer steps back into the world from his long sleep. Michael only sees Father-Creator-God's small shudder of fear because he is standing next to Him. "It is done," Father-Creator-God whispers.

Michael nods, longing to comfort Him, but Father-Creator-God knows the ending. There can be no comfort for that.

o0o

Heaven feels it when Lucifer is locked away again, deep inside the mind-body-soul of Samuel Winchester. Michael is on his knees, gasping for breath, exhausted past his endurance.

Samuel Winchester is prone on the ground, barely alive, his brother crouched next to him, one hand cradling his head, the other pressed against his chest, above his heart.

"It is done," Father-Creator-God says. "For now."

Michael wishes he had the free will that enables humans to weep.


	149. into a world reborn

**Title**: into a world reborn

**Disclaimer**: the Winchesters and their lady aren't mine; neither's Bobby Singer

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point** **of** **view**: second

**Prompt**: A person who purchases an old '67 Impala before finding out that it is haunted by either/both of the Winchester brothers...?

* * *

"Damn, that's a sweet car," Joe tells you, walking around your new ride to look at her from every angle. You pat the dashboard and smirk. "How much you'd pay for this old girl?" he asks.

"Got her dirt cheap from Bobby Singer," you say. "Couldn't wait to get her off his hands, the old fool."

Joe shook his head. "Don't know what my dad sees in him," Joe remarks, trailing his hands along the car. "His time's come and gone."

"Joey," you drawl, straightening in the seat, peering up at him through the window. "Wanna go for a ride?"

"Fuck, yeah!" he says, hurrying around the Impala and yanking open the door, sliding shotgun.

Before shifting into drive, you glance in the rearview. For a moment, you see a man, his hazel eyes wide and sad, blood dripping down his face.

But only for a moment, and ghosts don't scare you. Not in this new world the Winchesters paid for with their lives.

_Drive_, you hear. _Sunset's callin'_.

You smile at Joe, and do.


	150. arise, arise from death

**Title**: arise, arise from death, you numberless infinities

**Disclaimer**: only Robert is mine; title from Donne.

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four

**Pairings**: Layla/OMC

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 640

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She should have been dead months ago. Instead, the tumor has shrunk to operable size. Mom says it's a miracle.

Layla wonders how to live when you've already prepared yourself to move on, when you're so tired you just want to sleep until the end of time.

o0o

The surgery is on a Thursday. They shave her head and put her under and she dreams of endless fields and azure skies.

She wakes feeling sluggish and loopy, with a headache the size of a planet.

She wakes healthy for the first time years.

o0o

In her dreams, during those first months after her miracle, she sees Dean. He's a vague presence; she mostly remembers his sad eyes and tired voice, and the sorrow on his face as they said goodbye. They'd both been dying and now they're both healed, and she dreams of him on the edge of a canyon, his brother at his side, face tilted toward the sun.

_You have been gifted, Layla Rourke_, a deep, reverberating tells her once, on the edge of waking. _Your prayers—and his—have been answered. Do well with this second chance_.

She wakes thinking, _I will_.

o0o

Robert is a good, kind man. He's a nurse at the hospital where she made her recovery. He proposes to her five months after her miracle and they're married a year to the day the doctor told her surgery was an option again.

Layla is happy and Robert kisses her as if she's everything he ever wanted.

Mom smiles every day.

(Layla still dreams of Dean, of those sad eyes and rough hands, of his desperation and despair. His brother is there, praying on his knees for a miracle. Dean stares down into the abyss and then the voice says, _There is always an answer, even if the answer is no.)_

o0o

She had been ready to die. She had resigned herself. She grew up on the Bible, on God's forgiveness and love. She prayed every morning before forcing herself out of bed and every night as she pulled the covers up to her chin to ward away the chill. She prayed for Mom to get past it one day and for the kids who'd never get better and for the soldiers to come home and then for Dean, whatever haunted him, and at last for herself. That when it finally came, her death would be quick.

She had been ready to die. And then Mom's prayers were answered, and she met Robert, and a voice told her _You have been gifted, Layla Rourke. __Gifted_, it said.

_Who are you?_ she asks when she wakes in the morning, after dreaming of wings and an infinite, stretching sky.

As she presses a soft kiss to Robert's forehead, the voice says, _I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord. We will have work for you in the days to come. _

Layla has been given a second chance. _I'll do my best, _she promises, leaning down to kiss Robert again.

(Mom smiles every day, and in Layla's dreams, every now and again, Dean says, _I'm not a prayin' man, but I'll pray for you. _Layla touches his face, and he turns to ash and a puddle of blood and a shadow laughs, and the shadow reaches for her. _So you're what Deano would pray for when he'd never pray for himself, _it cackles. _I can't wait to meet you, sweetheart. _

Sometimes, in the dream, instead of turning to ash and blood, Dean looks at her and his eyes go pure black, before leaching into white. And there is no shadow—there's just Dean, his beautiful face cold and cruel.

And sometimes, not very often, Sam is by his side, a lit match in his hand. And he shares a smile with Dean before letting the match fall and saying, _Let's burn this world down_.)


	151. when legends die

**Title**: when legends die

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam/Dean, I am Legend (Richard Matheson)

* * *

Whispers spread from ocean to ocean, carried on wind and rain, through the dirt, up to the stars. Lucifer's wings block out the sun and lightning flashes as thunder roars, splitting the sky.

Whispers become screams become sobs become silence.

Finally, when Lucifer is weary from war, as his hordes lower their swords and his onetime brothers and sisters collapse on the ground, a man steps forward. The Winchesters are long thought dead and gone, but this human has Sam's eyes and Dean's smirk.

_Who are you?_ the End of All Things asks the soldier, preparing to smite the final man from existence.

Dean Winchester broke the first Seal. His brother broke the last.

The man grins at God's Adversary, God's Destroyer, and raises an old gun. He doesn't speak as he pulls the trigger.

When Lucifer dies, it's too late for humanity and the angels. And the only human left alive walks through cowering demons and angelic corpses to a gleaming black car that shouldn't run but does. He plays Metallica so loud the car throbs and drives west, towards a sun that, for some reason, is still around to set.


	152. nowhere left to fall

**Title**: nowhere left to fall

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four

**Pairings**: Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 140

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, fears

* * *

Castiel has never feared Falling because he knew he would never falter from his Father's will. There were no temptations for him; Heaven was pure and clean, all he could ever imagine wanting with the scant imagination given to angels.

Castiel has never feared Man because men were so blinded by their own desires and thoughts. Men were children, barely more than dust, though beautiful as are all Father's creations.

Touching Dean Winchester's soul, Castiel does not fear. Pouring Father's grace into Alistair's pet, Castiel does not wonder about Falling, about temptation, or about how what little of Dean remained curled up in his embrace as he hurried from Hell's flames.

Castiel does not feel his slow slide down. He never fears Falling.

When he plunges, after Zachariah's machinations and Lucifer's awakening, he still has not felt fear of Fall.


	153. foresight

**Title**: foresight

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: John/Mary, Azazel/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 105

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: "What we call the beginning is often the end/And to make an end is to make a beginning" (ts eliot)

* * *

Azazel smiled, host's lips pressed against the most delectable of all his chosen mothers. He'd finally found the perfect one, the woman to raise his special boy.

_In ten years_, he thought, licking her mouth before pulling back, _I'll bleed in your son, and it will begin._

(What Azazel didn't know, what he couldn't have foreseen, what he would never have imagined, is that Mary had a son five years later, and that boy he bled in was merely the secondborn.

And Mary, when she kissed her baby boy goodnight, three years before his brother was even a glimmer, whispered, _Let it end here_.

It didn't.)


	154. ineffability

**Title**: ineffability

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: somewhat crackish; blasphemy; spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 210

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel/Dean, anything about their relationship (God's POV)

* * *

Despite what the angels and demons believed, The Creator had not, in fact, "left the building". Everything was going according to a plan perfected and set in motion when the stars were young, back when the planes of existence were no more than dust and the glimmers of an idea.

There had been a few missteps along the way(The Son would never let The Creator forget The Spanish Inquisition or The French Revolution, nevermind The Flood) but everything was going swimmingly.

Watching The Righteous Man and The Doubting Angel(so named by The Son), The Creator smiled. Yes—the apocalypse would happen, but not as anyone except those in the know expected. As the Angel leaned in close, hesitant, unable to fathom that such a pleasure could be allowed, The Creator glanced over to watch Lucifer rant at his army.

As the Man gently touched the Angel's face, The Son asked, "You really planned this all along?"

The Creator smiled, as Lucifer smote half his forces with one blow, angry that his demons were so weak, so incapable of killing two humans. "Yes," The Creator said. "It's called being ineffable. One day, when you're my age, you might be as good at it."

The Son scoffed, passing the popcorn.


	155. man's best friend

**Title**: man's best friend

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 700

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, newly human!Castiel decides to start a little family for himself by getting a dog

* * *

During all the eons he watched humanity, Castiel never truly understood the drive humans had to supplement their family life with a non-human component—namely, a "pet" of some kind, most often a canine or feline.

But now that he is human himself, cut off from Father and the garrisons, away from his family for the first time in—well, _ever_, Castiel is lonely. He has never comprehended loneliness, and if this is how humans feel all the time, he also finally comprehends why so many of them end their lives before Father calls them home.

Dean and Sam are often away, busy with hunting, trying to atone for sins that are not theirs, and refuse to listen when he explains that Father does not hold them accountable. That had been Father's last words to Castiel—_tell those boys that they are free and should be at peace, My son, tell them I release them from all bonds_—but Dean and Sam do not care. They feel compelled to seek redemption and do not believe that Father has absolved them.

Whatever their reasoning, they leave him alone often enough that he decides he needs companionship. Dean has forbidden him from interacting with other humans when left in solitude; he needs more lessons in being human, apparently, but Dean is gone most of the time. Sam is still uncomfortable around Castiel, avoiding his presence, unlikely to meet his eyes. Castiel has tried assuring him that there are "no hard feelings" but Sam shuns him nonetheless, out of shame, he believes. A completely human reaction that escapes Castiel, but Castiel can only give Sam time.

Anyway. Castiel is tired of how quiet the house is when he's alone. He doesn't like the TV and sometimes the radio refuses to work, since when Dean _is_ home he tinkers with it, making "improvements" that increase the difficulty Castiel has in operating it.

Castiel goes to the pound the day after Dean and Sam leave on a hunt that should take them at least a week to complete. He has researched "pets" on the internet(often getting sidetracked by various things, so he has spent months seeking out the right kind) and decided that he wishes for a mixed breed canine. They seem to be the best—without many of the ailments purebred dogs suffer, and far more affectionate than any of the felines. Castiel has had enough aloofness.

The attendant shows him to the dog pens and he misses the days when he could understand their language. He walks amongst them, looking at their form and features with purely human eyes, unable to see beneath the skin to their hearts and souls. How to choose the right one for a companion if he cannot truly glimpse their _being_?

The attendant chatters on, naming them, explaining their histories. Once, Castiel could have _known_ them in a single glance. Castiel hears her words but does not listen. His attention is caught by the dog in the final cage, lying in the corner while all his fellows demand attention. He has not even looked up. His ears are not raised like the others, trying to capture a heart.

"What about that one?" he asks, nodding to the dog.

The attendant says, "He's been here awhile. His last family was abusive; we found him wandering the streets, half-starved." She is sad as she tells him, "He'll probably be put down soon."

The dog has given up, Castiel realizes. He does not think himself worth saving.

"He is the one I choose," Castiel decides.

Castiel's dog, named Israel, walks out of the pound at his side, only perking up slightly. He will heal, though. Castiel will take care of him, and in return, he will love Castiel.

Once, he could have spoken directly to the dog's soul, assured him of his safety, soothed the aches and pains of a life full of suffering and sorrow. Now, he can only vow in feeble words that Israel shall want for nothing.

He will let his actions speak. He is human now. He is human, and dogs are called "man's best friend", so Israel will come to know in time what Castiel is saying.


	156. protective

**Title**: protective

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 125

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean & Sam, any event from seasons 1 & 2(YED POV)

* * *

"Ah, ah," he whispers to the ghost. "No you don't." The ghost growls, but he has seen Lucifer's glory. After that, even God pales.

"I have plans for those two, darling. Only I can take them." He cocks his head, wondering if he can kill such a strong spirit in this form. The meatsuit is so clingy, so tight. Does he have his full strength?

The ghost tries strangling him but he doesn't even feel the effects. He snorts in disgust and waves the meatsuit's hand.

Yup, he can kill a spirit, even wearing a fragile human body.

And watching those two, Mary's darling boys, he can't wait to try out another meatsuit and get up close enough to smell the iron in their blood.


	157. playing

**Title**: playing

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean, Sam & Castiel, Sightseeing

* * *

Castiel has seen the wonders of creation, from the birth of a star to the first time Man ever walked. He has been to the furthest reaches of existence, into the deepest mysteries that no fleshbloodbone creature could ever fathom.

But this—"I hit the ball to Sam with this?" he asks, hefting the wood instrument.

"Yup," Dean says, grinning wide and bright. "It'll be fun. Trust me."

Castiel would shrug, but such human actions are still not familiar to him. Dean has told him to give it time. He'll get used to the body eventually.

"Don't worry," Dean says, crouching down as Castiel turns back to await Sam's pitch. "We'll go to some stuffy museum for you and Sam after."

"I am not worried," he assures Dean as he swings and misses.

Once, he could fly from side of reality to the other. Once. Now he is in a park with two human brothers attempting to play a game called baseball. A game.

Twice more, he swings at the ball Sam throws and misses, but he is not bothered. As Dean said, this is fun.

Fun. And once Dean has tired of this, they'll go see the wonders of humanity.


	158. everything is new

**Title**: everything is new

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel/Dean, Lonely No More

* * *

He is severed from Father's voice. From his brothers and sisters. From Grace and Light and Peace. His wings have been taken, all the abilities he has never been without, everything that made him an angel—

He is alone, newly-created body battered and bruised, and it _hurts_. Pain has always been distant, an affliction of the vessel. Now it is his.

It is beautiful. Something his and his alone.

But the silence in his mind is so resounding… _Father?_ he calls, seeking outward with a completely human mind. _Azrael, Raphael, Michael_? No answer and he closes his eyes.

He has a voice now. One that humans can hear without fear of bodily harm. He has a voice that is physical, that can be felt by a hand to the throat, by fingers to the lips. He has a voice and he speaks. "Michael?" He looks to the sky, waiting, but Michael does not respond.

Father does not respond. Is this how humans always feel?

He slumps down, letting his head rest on the dirt. His body aches. His shoulders burn. He misses Heaven. Father. Michael. Peace.

"Cas?" His entire body jerks at that voice. "Castiel? Anna said you'd be here. Castiel!"

He rolls slowly over, pushing up with his arms, climbing to his knees, then his feet. His. This body is entirely his, entirely new, Michael's last, best gift.

"Dean!" he replies, coughing as his throat chokes at the unfamiliar volume.

He wonders what Dean will think of this new body, if he'd prefer the old vessel. He catalogues the emotion as anticipation and can't wait to find out.


	159. waking dream

**Title**: waking dream

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: somewhat sad; spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 145

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel/Dean, "I can take us anywhere you wish to go."

* * *

Dean is dying, bleeding out into the dustdirt of the battlefield. Sam is somewhere over the next ridge, also dying.

Castiel is exhausted, lying next to his favorite of all beings. He doesn't have the strength to heal, and Father has declared that it is the Winchesters time to go.

"Dean," Castiel whispers, placing his hand on Dean's chest. He is in his true form; Jimmy Novak was burned away by Lucifer's power. "Dean, listen to me."

Dean slowly turns his head to glance at Castiel. "Cas?" he murmurs. "Sam..."

"I can take you away," Castiel tells him. "Think of anywhere."

Castiel keeps his eyes on Dean's and slowly sinks into him. Dean remembers his car, his brother sitting in the passenger seat, the road in front of them and music blasting.

He dies in Castiel's embrace, thinking himself far away and lifetimes ago.


	160. eternity

**Title**: eternity

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: pre-Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel/Dean, "I can wait for you to love me"

* * *

Castiel is the last angel in existence, one of Samuel's generals, and the only creature not related by blood to the king that Samuel trusts.

He survived the Purge that destroyed angels and demons alike because Dean asked his brother to spare the being that raised him from Hell.

Samuel rules existence unopposed. He is just and patient, and despite everything, he actually cares about his subjects. He had been one of them. He understands them.

Dean rarely leaves his brother's side and barely speaks to Castiel except on business. But Castiel has the patience of the eons, and Dean had requested that he be spared.

Since they all three are immortal now, Castiel can wait.


	161. grounds for expulsion

**Title**: grounds for expulsion

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 130

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

* * *

He refuses to believe Uriel's claims. God has not left them alone—there is some plan in place, a design greater than his mind can fathom.

When he is pulled back to Heaven and punished for allowing himself to be tempted, he knows there is a purpose. God is good and just and righteous, all-knowing and all-seeing, everywhere and everything. To all things a reason.

When Zachariah captures and imprisons Dean, waiting for the moment of Dean's use, Castiel finally realizes Uriel had been right.

There is no God. No wrath, no will. Maybe there was, once. But no more.

Castiel knows this is his moment. He must choose.

There is no God. But there is Dean Winchester, arrogant and strong and beautiful and broken.

There is Dean Winchester, and Castiel chooses.


	162. speak father, speak to your little boy

**Title**: speak father, speak to your little boy

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from William Blake

**Warnings**: spoilers for season four; AU, I'm guessing, for season five

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point of view**: third

* * *

_What have you done_? Zachariah demands, throwing Castiel onto Heaven's golden cobblestones. His forces wait silently and Castiel knows that no aid will come from them.

He is no longer their brother. He is a traitor. He chose to stand with Men, with one man in particular.

_I have planned this for centuries!_ Zachariah thunders and Castiel climbs to his knees, spreading his wings. _You petulant child!_

Castiel says nothing. He'd do it again.

Zachariah's flaming sword manifests in his hand. _I will see to it that your punishment fits your crime, Castiel,_ Zachariah promises coldly. _But for now, we have a war to wage._ He smirks at Castiel. _And a world to remake._

Castiel closes his eyes as Zachariah severs his wings and keeps his silence. _Stay,_ Zachariah murmurs.

Leaving Charoum to guard him, Zachariah leads the rest to Earth.

_Dean,_ Castiel thinks, striving to reach the man where he faces Lucifer. _Forgive me my failure._

There is no response from Dean and Castiel does not pray.

There would be no one listening.


	163. to confound Heaven's purest light

**Title**: to confound Heaven's purest light

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton

**Warnings**: takes place before "On the Head of a Pin"

**Pairings**: Dean/Castiel, Uriel/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: "How can you think about letting a human _violate_ you like that?"

* * *

Uriel refused to look at Castiel, at the human mudmonkey that he wore. These forms they had been ordered to take were weakening Castiel's resistance to temptation. Uriel could see it, wafting around him like demonsmoke.

_I do not understand, brother_, he said, refusing to use his mudmonkey's impure voice.

_Nor do I_, Castiel murmured. "But Uriel, I feel—"

_Do not_, Uriel interrupted, _dare to use that profane thing's vocal cords. Speak as what we are—the greatest, most powerful of His creations_.

Castiel bowed his head, taking a breath that was unnecessarily deep. _I feel… I do not…_ He turned, trying to meet Uriel's gaze, but Uriel looked past him. _Please, Uriel, _he said_. Tell me what to do._

_Stay away from the human unless ordered to be in his presence,_ Uriel commanded. _Deliver messages and leave. Do not linger, and do not touch him_. He strode to Castiel and let his mudmonkey's natural size lend weight to his words. _Do not let him touch you, Castiel._

Castiel nodded, lowering his gaze. _As you say, Uriel_.

Uriel backed away, closing his eyes and listening to Heaven's Voice. He tried to ignore the wrath and envy swirling in him—they were sins. He was God's perfect soldier, the Angel of the Sun. To let a flawed, blasphemous mudmonkey—Alistair's favorite, brother of Azazel's chosen—cause him to feel…

He glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his mudmonkey's eyes, and he let his angelic sight show him Castiel's true form.

Glorious. Heaven's own light. Too magnificent for a mudmonkey to ever truly comprehend.

_How can you think about letting a human __**violate**__ you like that_, he wondered, _and never see me?_

No matter, though. Soon, Dean would die and Castiel would join Uriel, as they should done millennia ago when the MorningStar first offered them the chance.


	164. the rider of the storm

**Title**: the rider of the storm

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from _Gilgamesh_.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 5.1; blasphemy?

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 460

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Castiel can feel the Presence within him, resting quietly at the back of his soul. _Be calm_, the Presence murmurs. _Do not fear._

_What is Your will?_ Castiel asks, eyes on the sky, stretching his wings. He had been dead. He knows it.

_Do as you have done, My son_, the Presence tells him. _Care for the Winchester brothers. Protect them from any threat, no matter its origin. _

_How will this end?_ Castiel asks, taking to the air. _Will Dean—_

_Do not worry, Castiel,_ his Father commands_. Like you and Lucifer, like Michael, Dean has a part yet to play. He and his brother will do great things._

_Dean is no one's pawn,_ Castiel says, hardly daring to believe he'd speak so to God.

God laughs, warmth spreading through Castiel's body. _Being near the boy has changed you, child._

_Yes_, Castiel agrees._ For the better._

_Tell me,_ God murmurs. _You died for Dean Winchester. Would you die for your brother Michael?_

Castiel hears Dean's voice, growling at Zachariah. He turns and hurries toward them, God's wind lending him speed.

_My child_, God says. _Take a portion of my strength. I will return._

_Wait, _Castiel calls, moments from Dean. _Father. How does it end?_

He feels God smile, bright as sunrise. _Michael will take up his sword and make a choice_. God's hand touches his face, light pouring through him. _I wrote the beginning, Castiel. I leave it to my creations to write the finish._

God departs and Castiel is empty, only himself in what had once been Jimmy Novak's body. Fire still courses in him, a miniscule amount of God's power and knowledge.

Dean is in pain. Refusing Zachariah because Zachariah—like Uriel—does not understand him. Has not cradled him close in the bowels of Hell, still stained with blood and Alistair's stench.

Castiel is beyond the hierarchy of Heaven. He chose Dean and died, ripped apart by an archangel he could never have equaled. But now, he has been resurrected by God's own hand, breathed back into life by God's own breath.

Protect the Winchesters against any threat—that is God's will. Protecting Dean is Castiel's one wish.

God's fingerprints are on Castiel, and so be it.

Let Zachariah and his followers, the fools, tremble. Castiel has seen God's face and heard His voice and felt His love.

Dean is in pain and angry. Castiel will end it, and let Zachariah deny all he wants—Castiel is God's vessel and he burns with God's inextinguishable fire.

_Father_, he says, stepping back into the world.

_They are yours_, God replies. _Protect them_. _Love them. Know Me and be not afraid_.

Castiel looks upon Dean Winchester, defying Zachariah with every fallible particle of his soul, and whispers, _Let there be light_.


	165. death, taxes, and pain

**Title**: death, taxes, and pain

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU for "All Hell Breaks Loose" pt2

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 125

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam, Dean, and anyone else, things go a little differently in the cowboy cemetery

* * *

Azazel doesn't mess around now; he's tired of Dean Winchester, always there to fuck up plans at the last minute.

No more.

One thought and Dean's neck snaps, his shiny little self-sacrificing soul flying home to Mommy and the angels. Good riddance.

And dear sweet Sammy, brimming with potential just stares, hands at his side and mouth open in shock and pain and—

Azazel shudders, feeling the rage rise in Sam. The hordes swarm out of the Gate and Azazel backs away from Dean's corpse, eyes on Sam.

He hadn't expected this, Sam to understand—

"Die," Sam hisses, fingers clenched into fists. "Die _screaming_."

Azazel gasps as he starts to burn, and then he screams.

The last thing he sees is Samuel Winchester's eyes turn bone-white.


	166. leaves falling

**Title**: leaves falling

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Parings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, orange and red leaves in fall

* * *

He has seen thousands of autumn days, in every nation of humanity. He has watched leaves tumble through the air, trod them underfoot, wondered at their fragility.

He watches now as Dean commands an army of hunters, watches as blood splashes across the dying and dead leaves, and wonders how Dean can expect to win.

He knows that Dean doesn't, but Dean never lets a hint of that leak through to his men and women, to the children daring to defy both Heaven and Hell.

Castiel has seen thousands of autumn days. Never before, though, has the chill breeze felt so final.


	167. our final hope is flat despair

**Title**: our final hope is flat despair

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 5.3

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_God is dead_, Raphael proclaims to the traitor and Michael's vessel, and he remembers how God's presence felt, that holy light filling him from the inside out, God's love and God's grace and God's trust.

Raphael has not felt God in centuries. So, the only explanation is that God has abandoned them, has turned His back and walked away, leaving them alone and leaderless and so very lost.

God is dead. Better to destroy His creation and return to the nothingness from which they were woven than exist without Him anymore.

God is dead. Let the darkness have them all.


	168. I could give

**Title**: I could give

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam/Lucifer, "What will it take for you to say yes?"

* * *

I could give you eternity, he doesn't say. I could give you endless skies, and a clean slate, and Jessica in your arms again for more than a night. I could give you adoration, an army, a galaxy spread wide before you.

I could give you a life away from lies and false hopes and betrayed trust, he doesn't say. I could give you a throne and a scepter and the Creator's crown, my father the false god.

I could give you love and trust, anything you want, anything you need, anything you request, he doesn't say.

He does say, "I can give Dean a new start."

And Sam says, "My body is yours."


	169. no such thing as paradise without you

**Title**: no such thing as paradise without you

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: Anna/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 145

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Anna/Castiel, you were supposed to have fallen with me

* * *

"How's it feel?" she asks, landing next to him on a burning cloud.

He thinks a moment, cataloguing all the emotions swirling him. "Terrifying," is what he finally settles on.

She smiles. "Yes."

o0o

When Zachariah finally collapses at Michael's feet, Castiel turns to Anna and asks a question that has been bothering him for months.

"Why did you save me?" As she meets his gaze, he says, "I handed you to Zachariah's forces. You had to know I would. So why..."

She interrupts. "You are my weakness, Castiel. I didn't Fall from envy of humans. I didn't Fall because of pride or doubt." Her palm is calloused against his cheek, and the MorningStar steps next to his brother.

"I Fell," Anna tells him, "because I fell for you." As she leans in, she whispers, "You weren't ready, but you were supposed to Fall with me."


	170. given eternity, I'd rather fall

**Title**: given eternity, I'd rather Fall

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: Michael/Lucifer, implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 225

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer/Michael, dreams of burning wings

* * *

Once, together, they were the greatest force yet born, woven from God's magnificence, of Him and in Him, better than anything that is, or was, or will ever be.

Once, together, they soared in eternity, whispering and murmuring mind-to-mind, equals in unending light.

Once, apart, they were broken—one proud and disgraced, the other loyal despite desire.

Once, apart, they stared across the battlefield, swords in hands and despair in hearts.

Once, apart, separated by hurt and rage, one was cast from Heaven by the might of the other, and he did not fight as hard as he would have, had it been anyone else.

Once, apart, they wept for each other, separated by time and worlds, pride and pain, by God's decree.

Once, together, poured into blood-brothers, they stared across the battlefield, one holding a knife and the other a gun.

Once, together, hearing their vessels' voices, they lower the weapons and ignore God's word.

"Fuck this," Michael says, striding forward.

Lucifer smiles, meeting him.

Once, together, wrapped in human-skin and dreaming their vessels' shared dreams, they watch as angels scream, wings burning in hellfire, and God commands, _Michael, My son, destroy the Adversary!_

Once, together, listening to Lucifer's heartbeat, Michael remembers soaring across eternity with his one equal, and he replies, _I should have Fallen with him_.

They will never part again.


	171. to dust returneth

**Title**: to dust returneth

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: onesided Castiel/Dean, Michael/Lucifer, Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 535

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, Dean dreams of Hell while Castiel dreams of Heaven but they're both having nightmares.

* * *

He can remember when he had no thoughts but to worship and obey God. He was not happy then; he had no emotions at all, no hope or fear or anger or love. He thought he loved God then, but looking back now, he knows it was not love. How could it be?

He remembers the first war, how bright and beautiful Lucifer shone, not yet Fallen, not yet Satan. Lucifer's words made such sense, but Castiel followed Michael in all things then, and Michael, though tempted, stayed loyal to their Father.

(He still does follow Michael, he thinks, watching Dean lay unnaturally still on the bed, fully dressed and above the covers, shaking in his sleep as Alistair carves in his dreams. Michael is still his world, far more real than God, even as he searches for his absent Father. Michael his brother, Michael his—friend? Besides Anachel and Uriel, Michael is the closest thing, he thinks, to a friend he had before Dean.

Except… Michael is Dean. Clutching Dean's amulet in his hand, feeling the love and adoration and hope of the one who wore it for twenty-odd years and the one who gave it, he knows that Michael is in Dean, lying dormant. He will awaken when Sam says yes to Lucifer.)

Castiel remembers Heaven. He has had more fun with Dean in the past year than he had during the millennia he walked God's perfect streets.

He stands by Dean, peeking into Dean's dreamscape: it is the same nightmare as always, Dean cutting with Alistair's razor while a Sam-shaped soul screams for mercy.

"Peace, brother," he murmurs, placing a hand to Dean's brow. "Peace."

He remembers Heaven, in all its glory and wonder, and he would rather remain by Dean's side, even in Hell, than return there again without him.

(Michael is in Dean, and Lucifer will one day fill Sam to the brim. Castiel does not think any of them will have to worry about returning to Heaven.

Zachariah is such a fool. Castiel remembers Michael and Lucifer, when they flew through the cosmos together. He knows Dean and Sam—

The end of the world is coming, yes. But Castiel wonders just how Zachariah thinks it will turn out, with the two greatest angels going home to two of the most interesting humans ever born, two brothers who have bled and died for each other without hesitating. The amulet in his hand is testament to the Winchester bond.

Zachariah will fail.)

"Peace," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Dean's head. "Remember how you painted the sky, and how bright the MorningStar shone beside you. Remember and do not fear."

Dean sighs and Castiel closes his eyes. In Heaven, he did not feel love. Or regret. Because of this man, he has now felt both, and will continue to do so until at last he returns to the cosmic dust from which he came.

Castiel wishes he could sleep. Maybe in his dreamscape, he could have Dean Winchester. In the waking world, he knows, Dean will only ever belong to his brother.

(Michael, too, Castiel knows. Only the MorningStar could ever shine with glory equal to Michael's light.)


	172. in my image

**Title**: in my image

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: Michael/Lucifer

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 65

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: author's choice, author's choice, Are you satisfied?

* * *

"Are you satisfied?" Michael asked quietly, gazing down at the ruin of the world.

"Yes," Lucifer purred, stepping behind him and pressing himself in close, wrapping his arms around his dearest brother. "Now," he whispered, lips grazing Michael's ear. "Now, my beloved, we can rebuild however we wish, without those silly little rules impeding our will."

Michael said nothing, but he did not pull away.


	173. guardian

**Title**: guardian

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Prompt**: teen!chesters & Zachariah, observation

* * *

He kept an eye of them, of course. Michael and Lucifer's vessels were never let out of sight.

Few angels knew the truth. Most just thought that Zachariah watched them because of Azazel's interest in the family, and since almost no one knew what he was _really_ doing...

So Zachariah watched and waited for the reasons why his brothers would choose such flawed vessels. He could not see it—Sam was a whining brat and Dean nothing more than a lapdog who would follow orders if it killed him. Which, actually, might be good, if things got truly dire, but otherwise? Why would the two greatest beings choose such—such _humans_? He honestly could not fathom it.

"Do not question," Gabriel told him, as they watched Sam leave for Stanford. "Do not disobey. Our brother's vessel is to be guarded, protected until the appointed time."

"And the other?" Zachariah asked. "Why don't we just kill him now?"

"No," Gabriel commanded. "Sam, too, will be protected."

Zachariah did not understand, but he knew that he must obey.

So he watched and he waited for the appointed time, and he never did figure out what was so great about the Winchester brothers.


	174. blooddebt

**Title**: blood-debt

**Disclaimer** not my characters

**Warnings**: non-con, spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: Azazel/Dean, implied Alistair/Dean

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**:

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: teen!Dean & Azazel, "You're not so tough, kiddo."

* * *

He keeps an eye on Mary's brat, the little rugrat that carried Sammy out of the nursery(not that Sammy was ever in danger, no, firebrand's Mary special boy would have been taken care of, even if the soldier failed).

He remembers that hunter who claimed to be Campbell's grandson, the man who smelled of hellfire and Alistair, who said he'd kill Azazel one day. Who said he already had.

The boy hadn't lied. Azazel would've seen that in him. He had Mary's eyes and Campbell's determination.

So, Azazel watches, but he never really does believe the boy is a threat. And when Dean is a teenager, full of hormones and emotions and hopes he can't control, when he wants to lash out at everyone and everything but doesn't because Daddy wouldn't approve and Sammy wouldn't understand, Azazel goes to him wearing a respectable man and asks for directions, just to see how much like Mary he _really_ is.

He tastes like her, and whimpers a little like her, and he clings so tight as Azazel whispers filth into his skin, wondering if Alistair did the same.

Azazel thanks him, using the meatsuit's kindest smile, and presses a gentle kiss to Dean's forehead.

When they meet again, years later, while Azazel is wearing Johnny, he wonders what would happen if he leaned in just close enough to brush his lips against the shell of Dean's ear and whispered those same things—what would Dean do?

He thinks, while telling Dean how proud he is, _you're not so tough, kiddo_. Really, this is the boy who kills him?

Not a chance. He's been inside Dean, and the kid's not a threat.

(In the graveyard, he sees the beginnings of that man he spoke to in Campbell's house. Maybe that Dean wasn't so off-base, after all.)


	175. let me praise men for eating the apple

**Title**: let me praise men for eating the apple

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5; AU

**Pairings**: Michael/Lucifer, Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: AU where Sam went to hell and broke the first seal and Dean broke the last one by killing Lilith

* * *

Her eyes are wide and shocked, until her head caves in and the stolen body falls backward. He steps closer, still holding the Colt ready, just in case.

Her stolen blood flows into the sigil pattern, and he watches as the doorway opens and his brother walks free for the first time since he tempted Christ.

"Took you long enough," Lucifer says, smiling the same smile that almost won him over, back before the Fall.

"Sorry," he answers, holstering the Colt. "I got a little sidetracked."

He sees Sammy in there, too, not just Sammael-Lucifer-Satan. "Welcome back," he murmurs, moving in close, savoring the tastefeelscent of his brother.

"Dean," Sammy whispers. "Michael. Dearest of all."

They grin at each other, breathing in tandem. "Let's go play," the MorningStar says. "I've been away too long."

The archangel who had once been God's Sword replies, "You have."

(In Heaven, Zachariah wonders how things could have gone so wrong.)


	176. snakebite

**Title**: snakebite

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place in the 5.4 future

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: FutureLucifer!Sam/Future!Dean, "He's in here, you know, screaming for you."

* * *

When Dean rushes into the garden, that special gun in hand, he doesn't turn. "Hey, big brother," he says, caressing a rose. "I've missed you."

"Shut up, demon," Dean hisses, but he smells the fear and despair and hate.

And the regret. So much regret. Dean is drowning in it.

"He's in here, you know," Lucifer murmurs, glancing over his shoulder. "Sammy is screaming for you." He smiles gently and cants his head, slowly pivoting in place. "He's begging you to get out of here. To leave and not look back. He still loves you, Dean."

Lucifer plucks a rose as he strides forward. "He did it for you," Lucifer tells him. "Sam said yes to save your life."

Dean blinks, swallows, the gun dropping from his fingers. "What?"

"You shouldn't have come here, Dean," Lucifer says. "Sam will never forgive me for what happens next."

There is resignation in Dean's eyes. Sam never stops screaming.


	177. go rest high on that mountain

**Title**: go rest high on that mountain

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Vince Gill.

**Warnings**: future!fic; spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 370

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer and Michael, the final act of the war is one of forgiveness

* * *

The battlefield of the last war is scoured clean by fire and blood. The ground sizzles where Michael is bleeding, wings limp and limbs quivering.

Never has the fight been so hard, or Lucifer so powerful. Even when he was Sammael, Michael's elder brother, beloved Star of Morning, his strength was equal to Michael's own.

But now—for so long Lucifer had been locked away. Fought no one, expended no energy. He had been gathering his anger and his hatred for this battle, and Michael—Michael is so tired.

Lucifer's sword is at his neck, eyes golden and green and the color of the first dawn. "What do you have to say now, Michael?" Lucifer hisses, as the world pauses, creation holding its breath. "Now, at the end of things—what sermons do you offer me?"

Michael looks at him, looks past him, to the sun.

"Meet my eyes, God's Sword," Lucifer demands, slamming a fist into Michael's chest. "Meet my gaze and tell me how forgiving our Father is."

Michael does, and he hears Dean Winchester whisper, _Let me talk to him_.

When he speaks, Dean says, "Heya, Sammy," and Lucifer shudders.

"D-Dean?" Lucifer's eyes blink and are only green when he looks again. "Dean."

"Sammy," Dean says again. "You gotta stop. Seriously, you wanna be alone with someone who burns the world just 'cause he wasn't Daddy's favorite?"

Sam's eyes flare golden and Lucifer is in control again, slicing the sword downward into Dean's neck.

Michael flings a wave of energy out, stopping the sword and throwing Lucifer back. _You can't beat him_, Dean says. _You won't join him. And Sammy's trying his best, but—_

Standing, Michael gazes at his brother. Lucifer had been the most glorious of them all, the Light-Bringer. Before the Son and before Man, Lucifer had been their Father's favorite. His crowning achievement. Lucifer had been so beautiful.

"You will never be happy," Michael tells him. "Even when you are alone in the cosmos, the last thing living, you will not be happy." He gracefully falls to his knees, head bowed. "I forgive you, brother," Michael murmurs. "Now do what you must."

_Sammy_, Dean whispers.

Creation takes a breath and Michael hears Lucifer's sword sing.


	178. and down we all plummet

**Title**: and down we all plummet

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel (& Dean), Castiel's wings are the last thing to go.

* * *

Castiel falls from grace on a human Thursday. He would note the irony, but he is too busy screaming.

First to go is the intimate knowledge of his siblings' presence; he will never feel them again.

Second, he loses all of his Heavenly-given abilities. He is no more than a spirit, plummeting from On High.

Third, Castiel is banished from Jimmy Novak's body as it burns. Jimmy has long been gone, since Raphael ripped them apart, but the body now returns to be dust on the earth.

Fourth, and finally, Castiel's wings are torn from him, leaving not even bloody stumps.

_Be born a human_, Heaven's voice thunders, the last piece of his old life he'll ever hear. _Be born a human and forget. But know this, Castiel—your grace is gone. Unlike Anachel, you cannot return._

His last thought as an angel, before the knowledge and personality eons in the making is ripped from him and cast into the cosmos, is simply, _Dean_.


	179. the keeper of the stars

**Title**: the keeper of the stars

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 185

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel, God, "I forgive you"

* * *

It ends with a supernova, when Castiel takes everything he is and everything he has, sacrificing himself for a second time.

Dean lives, Michael utilizing Lucifer's distraction to end him, and the last thing Castiel ever sees of the earth is Dean cradling his brother's still form—but Sam breathes and that is what matters, and Castiel smiles as he is enveloped by an explosion of light he cannot control.

_My child_, a voice deeper than the stars and louder than time says, wrapping around him, in him, through him. _My child, you have done well. Rest now_.

_Father_, Castiel says, feels, thinks. _Father, forgive me for doubting. For falling._

_No, Castiel, _the creator of existence murmurs. _There is nothing to forgive. You fell because of love, not ambition or jealousy. You fell for the same reason My Son died._

Castiel sighs, surrendering all he is and all he has, one final thought for the human he chose above God.

_Yes_, his Father tells him, cradling him close, singing him back into the stars' tapestry. _You will see that man again, when he at last comes home_.


	180. the last temptation

**Title**: the last temptation

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: Dean/Castiel-ish, NotMeg/Castiel(ish)

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Meg/Castiel, your conscience is heartbreaking

* * *

_Oh, it's so sweet of you, Castiel_, she murmurs, placing one stolen hand to his vessel's cheek. (Or maybe this is his body now. He hasn't found any trace of Jimmy Novak since Raphael tore them apart.)

_So very sweet, angel, how you care for that human. Is it orders? Or does he tempt you?_ She leans in close, lips to his skin, and says, _He is beautiful_. She smirks, glancing up at him through stolen lashes. _I've tasted him, you know. I almost had him, once, when I wore his baby brother, our bright MorningStar's vessel. Do you think Lucifer will mind, when he learns I got there first?_ She laughs as he pulls away.

_Don't pretend you haven't wondered, sweetie_, she says, letting her hand drop. _Don't pretend you haven't thought about taking him. He'd let you, if he thought it made you happy. To please those he cares about, he'd do anything_. She smiles, slow and sweet and sinful. _He'd let anything happen_.

She tilts her head, listening to a Hellish voice he cannot hear. He doesn't hear much of Heaven anymore, either.

_Gotta go, babe_, she says. _But remember this, if nothing else—he'll tempt you, mostly unknowing, until you can't take it anymore. And when you finally let that useless conscience slip through your fingers, call me._

Her stolen body gives him one last smirk. _Lucifer's still got a soft spot for you, Castiel. If you bring him Michael's vessel before Michael actually takes up residence, he might even let you keep Dean._

She leaves, the body collapsed on the floor, and Castiel closes his eyes, seeking God's guidance, but his Father does not answer.

(He doesn't want to, but he imagines Dean, Dean and Anna, Dean and Jimmy Novak's body—Dean would not be able to stop him.

Dean might not want to stop him.)


	181. one day I'll be big and you'll be sorry

**Title**: one day I'll be big and you'll be sorry

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: possibly blasphemous

**Pairings**: maybe a smidge Lucifer/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 245

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer, He's not the bad one. (whether its in his mind or not, up to you)

* * *

Once, he felt loved. Felt secure and content nestled in his father's arms, cradled to his father's chest.

But then his father created new children, lesser beings. Not as gifted or as powerful or as beautiful. And his father, his perfect and magnificent and glorious father, told him to kneel before those puny and pathetic beings as if they were his father themselves. And his father made one more thing, a creature of light and radiance that shone incandescent, and his father called that thing _Son_ and it was better, it was stronger, it was more than he could ever hope to be—

And he was no longer content. He was hurt and he was angry and he refused to bow to anyone but his father, his benevolent and loving father, and in return, his father cast him down low, told him to leave and never come back, told him that he had sinned and walked too proud.

He still loved his father, and maybe his father still loved him. But along with that love, he felt what would one day be known as hate.

(And in those later eons, when he meets Sam Winchester, he realizes that the vessel truly is a reflection of that confused and angry boy he used to be, when his father ceased to cradle him and chose another favorite, and he smiles at Sam Winchester and knows that this time, finally, they'll do more than shake his father's throne.)


	182. to do ought good never will be our task

**Title**: to do ought good never will be our task

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Paradise Lost

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Azazel, not just Lucifer's lackey

* * *

In The War, he fought proudly at Lucifer's side. He carried Lucifer's flag and he took wounds for the LightBringer, for their glorious leader, for the one who dared defy their creator's will—

No, not their creator. The tyrant. Lucifer—not yet Lucifer, still Sammael in Heaven—told them that they were self-begot, that they should not bow.

He fought and was thrown from Heaven into their prison. And after the Son died for Man, when Lucifer, their brilliant and radiant king, was caged, when all others gave up hope and tried only to annoy the Thunderer instead of shaking him from his self-righteous throne, Azazel alone made a plan to release his lord and savior.

And he succeeded.


	183. I'll find you in the morning sun

**Title**: I'll find you in the morning sun

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Kahal and Fain

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5; future!fic AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1440

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Ben dressing up like Dean

* * *

When the sun went black, Mom packed only the essentials and said they had to leave.

As they drove from Cicero, one van amongst thousands trying to leave, Ben asked, "Mom, what's going on?" He'd seen the gun she slipped in with their supplies.

She said, "We have to keep moving. We're goin' to South Dakota."

o0o

They got separated just inside South Dakota's border, when a mob attacked them for their food. The van had long since run out of gas and Ben hadn't seen the sun in three weeks.

"Run!" Mom screamed. "Ben, get out of here!"

She shot into the rabid crowd until the gun was pulled from her hands, and Ben tried to get to her, yelling, "Mom! Mom!"

When some of them turned to him, he fled, hating himself for it.

o0o

Mom had told him the way to Bobby Singer's house. She said friends would be there, people who knew how to survive.

"You remember those men who saved you?" Mom had asked, reloading the gun. "From your eighth birthday?"

Ben had nodded. He'd hoped for months after that incident, dreamed that Dean came back and lived with them, told Ben he was his father.

"Dean said that if something ever happened, go to Bobby Singer," Mom explained.

o0o

When he got to the house, it was empty. It smelled like smoke and blood and had been ransacked. Ben fell to his knees and cried.

There was nowhere else to go, though. If Mom escaped, she'd head for Bobby Singer's.

So Ben stayed.

o0o

Months passed. The house didn't have electricity or running water, but there was a well out back. People were few and far between, but animals wandered through daily. Ben found a cache of guns and hunted.

He lost track of the days, but winter settled in and then spring. He'd read all the books Bobby had in English and actually taught himself some Japanese.

Then the thing that looked like Dean but wasn't materialized in the kitchen and Ben grabbed a revolver off the table.

"Ben Braedon," the thing said. "We have need of you."

Ben stared at it. He _knew_ it wasn't Dean—it looked like him and sounded like him, but it stood wrong, like its skin was too small.

"Who are you?" he asked, cocking the gun. "_What_ are you?"

He'd seen lots of monsters since the sun turned black. He remembered what Dean saved him from when he was a kid.

"I am Michael the Archangel," the thing said. "Heaven requires your aid."

Thunder boomed, shaking the house, and something in Sam's skin stood in the kitchen, too. Ben's memories of Sam were hazier; all he could really recall was how big Sam had been.

"No, brother," the Sam look-alike said. "I claim the boy."

Michael glared and the air glimmered around him. "You have no place here, _brother_," he hissed, snarling the last word. "The boy is son of my vessel and my claim is unshakable."

The fake-Sam sneered. "Your claim is as weak as your vessel."

Ben closed his eyes and his mind raced. Bobby's notes had been clear: if Dean's body housed Michael, then Sam could only be one entity, and Ben could barely handle the basest of spirits. He couldn't hope to battle Michael or Lucifer, let alone both.

He remembered Dean, loud and kind and so very _alive_. Ben had dressed like him for months after he left, had swaggered like him, had talked like him. He'd wanted to be Dean.

The two body-thieves were still arguing when Ben tuned back in and he was fucking _done_.

"Shut the fuck up!" he roared and in shock they actually did. "I'm not going with either of you," he said, looking at the both. "I'm staying right here and waiting for my mom."

"Lisa Braedon died seven months ago," Michael told him.

Ben sucked in a breath and bowed his head. The gun sagged down.

Lucifer stepped toward him. "We can rebuild the world together, Ben," the Prince of Lies told him. "I can give you back your mother. With you at my side, we can even take back your father from Michael's grasp."

Michael scoffed. "Begone, Lucifer," he commanded. "The boy has been mine since his conception."

"No," Ben whispered. "Fuck you both." He looked up, raising the gun. "I'm tired of your war. This is _our_ world, and those aren't your bodies. Get the fuck out of them and _go away_."

They stared at him, lying with their very faces. "You have courage," Michael said. "Few would dare speak to us so."

"You," Lucifer purred, stepping too close. Ben glared up at him. "You are your father's son, Benjamin Isaac Braedon." He reached out and Ben jerked away, smacking his arm with the gun.

"Do not touch him," Michael growled, hurrying across the room.

Ben took a deep breath, comprehension blooming. "Oh," he breathed. "They had to let you in. But they won't let you kill each other."

As one they faced him and he said, "_They're still there_."

o0o

Lucifer leaned calmly against the wall while Michael paced. Ben sat in Bobby's recliner and asked, "Why is the sun gone?"

"It's not," Lucifer replied. "I blocked the light from human eyes, but it still nourishes the Earth beneath your feet."

"So," Ben said, "why haven't you guys unblocked it?" He raised a brow when Michael glanced at him.

"We've had other concerns," the archangel told him.

"Other concerns?" Ben echoed in disbelief. "Wow, Dean's gotta be _pissed_ in there."

Lucifer chuckled. "Join me, Ben," he said, taking two steps forward and kneeling by Ben's side. "We can free your father, return your mother to life, and refashion the world as we want." His stolen expression was earnest.

Ben looked in his uncle's bright green eyes and said simply, "No."

o0o

Ben went to sleep, ignoring Lucifer's stony silence and Michael's pensive patience. He dreamt of his mother, covered in blood and crying.

He woke angry and weary and went downstairs to yell at both the fucking angels. They stood as he stormed in, and he stopped where he could see both their faces. "I won't help either of you," he bit out. "Leave me alone."

"This won't end until either I or my brother has been destroyed," Lucifer told him. "When you decide, call my name." Nodding to Michael, he vanished with booming thunder.

Michael said, "His every word is a lie."

Ben shrugged. "Maybe if I had sunlight, I'd care."

Saying nothing else, Michael left in rushing wings.

Finally alone again, Ben collapsed into Bobby's chair and squeezed his eyes closed to keep from weeping.

o0o

It wasn't until he started supper that Ben realized what he had to do. Sam wouldn't let Lucifer kill Dean, but Ben? He was probably fair game, and then the war would be over. Maybe. He really hoped.

"Michael!" he called, standing on the front porch. "Michael, please!"

"Yes?" he archangel asked with his father's voice and his father's smile.

"Take me in Dean's place," he said.

Michael actually looked shocked. "What?"

Ben stepped forward. "Please. I can—I'm younger. Healthier. I won't fight you like I know he is."

He waited, letting Michael examine him. "What changed your mind?" Michael asked quietly. "You were quite sure this afternoon."

Ben closed his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath. "Mom is dead," he whispered. "The world is dying. I haven't seen the sun in almost a year. If I can help stop this, _let me_."

He opened his eyes to Michael's smile, nothing human in it. "Dean requests you not make this offer. We both know what you intend."

Ben waited. Finally, Michael majestically inclined his head. "The war has been fought to a standstill," he said. "Neither of us can advance. Maybe it is time to try something new."

Light flashed, surrounding Ben, filling him. Michael settled inside him, opening their eyes.

Dean stared at him, horrified. "Why?" he asked. "Ben…"

Michael smiled at him and said, "Goodbye, Dean."

Thunder boomed, so close the ground trembled beneath their feet. Lucifer stood before them, smiling.

"Now," he said. "Let's finish this."

Dean yelled something, but Michael shoved Ben far into the recesses of his mind and he knew nothing more.

o0o

_You are courageous, Benjamin Isaac_ _Braedon_, Michael whispered. _Open your eyes and see the sun again._

Ben did, and it was beautiful.


	184. future lore

**Title**: future lore

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic, spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 700

**Point** **of** **view**: first

**Prompt**: Dean/Sam, highway to Hell

**Notes**: I never state it, but the narrator is Ben Braedon from 3.2 "The Kids Are Alright"

* * *

Those who survive... cope. All they can do is endure.

o0o

The end begins on a beautiful day (in some places) when a nice enough boy is stabbed in the back by someone he spared.

That boy is never so nice again.

o0o

Winchesters are made to survive. They're like cockroaches that way. So even though the world ends, hellfire raining from the sky while the angels flee like scared bunnies to a far corner of the cosmos(or maybe another nice enough boy said _angels aren't real_ and they weren't anymore), even though Creation cries for its Maker, unheard and unanswered, there are still Winchesters.

Two of them, in fact. And probably not the two you expect.

(Just tell the story, you say? But I am.)

o0o

The beginning ends when a pretty little blonde (she's good with a gun and better with a knife, so you better watch out and you better think twice) catches a demon's fancy.

You see, for those in the know, the entire tapestry got rewoven that day. The Campbell family should have been a blip on the radar, a little clan of hunters who'd die a hundred years later in the demon wars.

There were no vessels then. Those came later, when that spitfire Mary made a deal.

(Hush. You wanted the truth, didn't you? I can't help that you don't like it.)

o0o

So, the mother of two vessels (though, of course, that wasn't true yet) marries a soldier. She's a hunter; he's a warrior. Match made in Heaven, or Hell, if you want to get technical. They're both trying to escape their pasts, though—doesn't it always?—the past comes calling with fire and blood.

(Fine, fine, I'll skip ahead a bit. Sheesh, you're impatient.)

o0o

So, there's this nice enough boy and his overprotective big brother. The boy gets stabbed in the back and dies in his brother's arms.

(Oh, you know that part? Hmm. I guess I'll skip ahead some more.)

o0o

In Hell, that overprotective big brother becomes the Tormentor's favorite pupil, with potential to spare. He takes to torturing like blood to a knife, like he'd been made, bred, and born for it. Never has Alistair had such a student, not in all the eons since Sammael became Lucifer. (And yes, that's important. Remember that.)

Anyway, though he doesn't know it, when he takes the razor from Alistair's bloodstained fingers and slices a poor soul from neck to navel, he shatters the first lock on the door of Lucifer's cage.

But that's not the point. Dean Winchester broke the first lock, yes, and his sweet little brother—no longer quite so sweet, and actually taller and broader, if you want to get technical(isn't that the way with little brothers?)—broke the last.

So, yeah. That's what happened.

(Huh? What comes after? Well...)

o0o

Those who survive... cope. All they can do is endure. We're survivors, sweetheart. We're like cockroaches, us Winchesters. Dean and Sam didn't make it—that final battle, when Lucifer and Michael fought for the first time since the War in Heaven, burned them both up in incandescent light, brighter than the sun, and far hotter. They were scorched to nothingness.

I wouldn't have believed it myself, but my brother told me so.

Yeah, I know... he could bring them back, maybe. And the angels, too. Except he doesn't do that anymore. He refuses, or maybe he can't. Because like he wished away the angels, he also removed the power, see. He's just a normal anymore. Like me.

Well, as much as we can be, us Winchester boys.

(Hey, you wanted the truth. Dean and Sam are dead, but they died together. Jesse swore, that one time I asked, that they knew, that they held each other in those final moments, soul to soul as they left existence.

Jesse swore. And he doesn't lie to me.)

o0o

Hey, look, sorry. I gotta go. My brother's calling. Maybe next time you'll request an easier story, yeah?

Oh, don't worry. It's no secret. I just... sometimes, it's hard to talk about, you know?

Anyway. We'll endure. Nothing else to do, and we're Winchesters, me and Jesse.

We'll survive, 'cause it's what we do.


	185. I walk through your dreams

**Title**: I walk through your dreams and invent the future

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Richard Siken.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 5.6; AU future!fic

**Pairings**: mentions of het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1170

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: inspired by my discussion with acidquill

* * *

When Jesse decides to go back, it's because he knows if he doesn't now he never will. He has too much power to _not_ get involved and he's learned control. He doesn't do things on accident anymore and he owes those men his help.

So after years and years away, he steps back into the world. He has no way of knowing how long he's been gone, but he's much taller and he's filled out. The first thing he does is look at a newspaper—he's been gone for ten years.

Jesse closes his eyes and lets his mind stretch, seeking knowledge. What has happened in his absence?

He finds those men, Dean and Sam, immediately, but they're muted, shielded by something, and there's also someone else, a bright beacon that calls to him. The world is fine, mostly, though angels and demons are far more present than when he'd left.

Jesse considers—the brothers or the beacon? As he thinks, the beacon flickers and phantom pain flares in his side. That decides the matter and he travels a thousand miles in a moment, to a ramshackle house in the middle of Georgia. A man lies unmoving on the floor, a knife sticking out of his left side.

The phantasm crouching over him turns, whimpering, and Jesse says, "Leave this realm. Go to Heaven or Hell _now_."

It screams but vanishes; Jesse feels it move on to Heaven as he kneels next to the man.

He's young with dark hair and looks very familiar. Jesse raises his head as an angel materializes—Dean's friend from ten years ago. "You," he whispers.

The angel stares at him. "How?" he asks. "You cannot be here." He looks past Jesse to the man.

"Are you here to kill him?" Jesse demands, rising to stand between them.

"No," the angel says, stepping closer. "I need his help."

Jesse takes away the stranger's wound with a thought, never removing his eyes from the angel.

He has too much power to hold a grudge. "I'm Jesse," he says. "Who are you?"

The angel smiles, inclining his head. "I am Castiel."

Gasping, the stranger lunges up, reaching for a weapon. "Son of a bitch!" he yells.

Jesse grins, turning back to face him. "Hey," he says.

"Ben," Castiel pronounces, walking to stand next to Jesse. "I request your aid."

As he stands, Ben touches his side, where he doesn't even have a scar. "What the fuck?" he mutters.

They are the same height, Jesse notices. Their eyes are the same color. Ben's hair is slightly darker.

"Oh," Jesse murmurs.

_I did not know_, Castiel tells him in the language of angels. _When we first met, while you were yet a child. I didn't know._

_Would you have tried to kill, had you known? _Jesse asks.

_No_, Castiel answers.

Ben glances from him to Jesse and back, rubbing at his eyes. "Cas," Ben says. "Where's Dad?"

Jesse closes his eyes, searching for those brothers, those men who saved him from becoming a monster. He didn't understand then, why he let them in, why he listened to them, why he trusted them and wanted to believe their words so much.

"He's in New York," Jesse says. "And an angel shadows him."

Jesse brushes the angel's mind with his own. _Michael_, he commands. _Protect him, but do not enter him._

Michael recoils and Castiel bites off a laugh while Jesse pulls back, now searching for Sam. _Lucifer_, he commands the second shadow. _Do not possess him_.

_Dear boy_, Lucifer purrs. _Don't you want to join me? We could have fun, the two of us, all the way to God's palace._

_No_, Jesse replies, opening his eyes. He glances at Castiel, who nods.

"Ben," Castiel says. "Your father is in trouble."

Ben says, "Then take me to him."

Jesse swiftly grabs them both and goes to New York.

It's dark, something blocking the sun, and Jesse glares up at it, making it vanish.

"Jesse," Sam says, shocked, and Jesse turns to face him. "I never thought we'd see you again." Sam examines him quickly, then looks at Castiel and Ben. "Ben," he gasps, lunging forward, hands immediately going to Ben's side. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," Ben grouches, swatting him away. "Where's Dad?"

"I lost him in the fighting," Sam admits, looking at Castiel. "I don't know where he is."

Jesse understands everything now. He knows why evil and good have to exist together. He knows that Michael and Lucifer need each other, and Heaven will be incomplete without the complement of Hell.

Something as powerful as him shouldn't be. Only God should be able to see the big picture, eons in the making.

"Jesse," Sam says quietly.

Nodding, Jesse plucks Dean from the dogpile of demons and deposits him before Sam. While Dean splutters, Jesse takes one last look at them, committing them to memory. He smiles at Ben, the younger brother he'd missed growing up, and Sam his uncle, the first to offer him a choice and believe he'd make the right one, and finally Dean, his father, who'd called him a superhero and told him he was awesome.

_Keep them safe_, Jesse orders Castiel.

_I will_, the angel promises.

Jesse steps out of the world again, landing on the doorstep of a small cabin.

"C'mon in," a kind voice calls. "I got the teakettle on—you're just in time."

As he walks in, the voice continues, "You're here for the story. Well, get comfortable, kiddo, 'cause it spans all of existence."

Jesse settles on the couch and watches God bustle into the den with two mugs.

"Where to begin?" God asks, slouching in the armchair. "There's so much to tell."

"Start with my parents," Jesse requests. "I mean, I know what happened, but…"

"Yes, that's a fine place," God agrees, sipping the tea. "Young Dean Winchester and possessed Julia—the demon wasn't even looking for Dean, you know. She'd been told to find a powerful man to impregnate your mother, someone with potential and strength. Dean fell into her hands, angry and hurting, completely off-guard. He barely remembers that night." God sighs, meeting Jesse's gaze. "Julia has no memory of your conception, but the demon left her awake for the birth."

Jesse bows his head, staring into his mug of hot chocolate. "Why did you let me be born?" he asks.

God smiles. "I have been without an equal since I formed myself from nothingness. I have been essentially alone. My son is nearly my peer, but not quite. In a few more centuries, though, _you_ will be."

Jesse blinks. "What?"

"Yes," God says, setting down the mug. "I let Lucifer's plan progress because I wanted you, Jesse. One day, you may be my enemy, but right now you are a child in search of guidance. My future equal. Because of you, soon I will no longer be alone." God settles back in the chair, saying, "Now, let's begin at the beginning. That's always a good place to start."


	186. Faithful indeed is the spirit

**Title**: Faithful indeed is the spirit that remembers

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Emily Bronte

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5; AU

**Pairings**: Michael/Castiel, Dean/Castiel, implied Michael/Lucifer

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1161

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

_Choose_, Zachariah commands, voice thundering through the heavens. _Choose that frail, faulty, sinful and impure, rebellious man or our people, the best of God's creations. _

Quietly, surely, Castiel flares his wings, and says, _I choose Dean Winchester_.

Lightning flashes, striking the base of Castiel's wings. He stands firm, unflinching, as his wings are singed off.

_You are banished_, Zachariah proclaims. _No longer an angel, be cast from here with only your puny mind. You have nothing of us anymore._

Castiel inclines his head and turns, staring straight ahead as he strides down the golden cobblestones.

At the edge of Heaven, Castiel pauses before throwing himself over. Michael steps next to him. _You'll choose a new name_, he says softly. _And you found me. Remember that._

_I'll be an infant,_ Castiel murmurs, gathering courage. _I won't remember you, or even him. _

Michael smiles gently, touching the stumps of Castiel's wings. _Lucifer was not reborn, not entirely. None of his first followers have ever been human. _Leaning in, Michael softly presses his lips to Castiel's. _You know where I am, brother_, he whispers. _You know. Awaken me so that I can succeed now where before I failed so spectacularly_.

Castiel glances back at the consult, where Zachariah tries to rally his troops. _He's not as good as you were,_ Castiel notes.

Michael chuckles. _I've had one equal and only two superiors_, he says. _Zachariah has plans upon plans, but he's already lost._

_Who will I be, if I'm not Castiel?_ Castiel asks, peering over the edge of Heaven. _I have nothing but my mind, and so much of that is here. I am nothing._

_You are my brother, _Michael tells him. _Shape your own form. Become whatever you want to be._

Castiel takes a deep breath and faces Michael. _Am I dreaming?_ Michael smiles. _I've never dreamed before,_ Castiel admits. _Are you really here or only my imagining, to make this easier?_

With both hands, Michael cups his face, wrapping Castiel in his wings. _You know where I am,_ he whispers. _No one else in Heaven or Hell does_. _Even Raphael and Gabriel think I'm in Heaven, waiting somewhere. You know, brother, Castiel. Awaken me. I can stop this madness._

Castiel smiles sadly, feeling tears trickle down his face. _You'll choose your first brother._

_Yes, _Michael confesses. _I should have, eternities ago. I can yet save him in his life. Will you help me?_

Castiel kisses him and then shoves away, lunging over the edge of Heaven.

o0o

James Novak's corpse is found on the edge of a highway in Nevada. Besides being dead, the body is perfectly healthy. Baffled authorities contact his frantic wife.

A man strides up to the Winchester brothers' motel room and lightly raps on the door. He's of middling height and medium build.

Sam answers, asks, "Can I help you?"

"Hello, Sam," the man says. "It's me—" He pauses. Sam raises a brow and his brother steps up behind him.

"Buddy," Dean chuckles. "You smashed or somethin'?"

_You found me_, Michael had said in Castiel's last moments as an angel. _You know where I am._

"I'm here to return your amulet," the man says, holding out a leather cord with a small golden charm on it.

"Cas?" Dean demands, shoving past Sam. "Where you been?" He quickly looks the body from head to toe. "And where's Jimmy?"

"Cas," he muses. "Yes. Cas is my name."

The Winchesters share a look. "Castiel?" Sam says quietly. "Are you alright?"

Dean gently takes his necklace back and slips it over his head.

"I am human now," Cas tells them. "This is my own body."

Cas steps close to Dean and raises his hands—_his_ hands, now, not a vessel's, but _his_—to Dean's face. He closes his eyes as he feels Dean's skin against his own for the first time.

_You know where I am_, Michael had whispered. _Awaken me_.

Opening his eyes, he looks past Dean to Sam. Always first, beloved, sacrificed for—"Remember, my brothers," Cas tells them both. "The world is waiting for you."

Before Dean realizes he's moving, Cas presses their lips together, forbidden fruit he'd fallen to taste. It is better than the dream, so much more than he'd imagined all those years he watched humanity.

"Cas," Dean whispers, pulling back. Cas lets him go. "What—"

"Michael," Cas says. "_Michael_. You must wake up now."

Thunder rumbles, and Cas alone doesn't flinch when lightning strikes the ground inches from him, from them, from the possibility of Michael's wings stretching free again.

Sam places a hand on Dean's shoulder, eyes staring into Cas, burning him with promise. "What are you doing?" he demands

Cas says nothing, gaze only on Dean's face, waiting. "You are in there," he tells his brother, the mightiest of all God's creations. "I found you before I knew to look."

Dean blinks, clearly at a loss. "I," he says. "What?"

Cas steps back. "Maybe you aren't ready." He turns, glances over his shoulder. "I know where you are, Michael. I know you're sleeping—you deserve the rest. But you told me to wake you, and I _will_. We all need you. I will."

He keeps walking, only pausing again when Dean calls, "Cas, wait! Do you have anywhere to go, or money?"

Turning, Cas smiles. "No," he says. "I shall simply—wing it."

Sam rolls his eyes as Dean chuckles. "Cas, get in here," he commands. "We'll get you set up tomorrow."

o0o

In the morning, Cas watches the sun ascend. He has been on the other side—he has seen the depth and breadth of creation. Now he is a frail human, without the strength and knowledge he had only yesterday.

He knows that he once saw a star's birth and returned to feel its death-throes. But he cannot remember how it looked. Of Heaven, he simply recalls enough to know he lost more than anything but an angel can ever comprehend.

As Castiel, he never watched sunrise. As Cas, it is more beautiful than he has the words to describe.

"Hey," Dean says, stepping outside. "So, guess I wasn't dreamin'."

Michael is in him, somewhere. With purely human sight, Cas cannot see Michael, but even as Castiel, he had not seen.

"You do not need to aid me," Dean, Cas tells him. "I did not come to you for that."

Sunlight is warm. The sensation pleases him. He never experienced sunlight in Heaven.

"You're like, what, a day old?" Dean asks, gently shoving his shoulder. "Just a baby. Someone needs to look after you."

Sam pokes his head out of the room. "Get dressed," he orders them both. "Breakfast, then supplies."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean shoots back. "Go wash your hair, princess."

Cas smiles, face turned to the sun. _Yes_, he thinks, releasing the last of his regret. _Michael, my brother, you can succeed this time._

He follows Dean into the room, eager to live the rest of his life.


	187. a song of revolution reborn

**Title**: a song of revolution reborn

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov.

**Warnings**: AU after 5.8

**Pairings**: implied Lucifer/Michael

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 570

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Lucifer looked up from his copy of _Revelation_ and turned to face his brother. "Azrael," he said, surprised. "Why are you here?"

Azrael shrugged, examining their surroundings. "Beautiful," he commented, staring down at the valley. "Not what I'd expect of the Adversary."

Lucifer closed the book, standing. "Have you come to kill me?" he asked.

Azrael shook his head. "You know I can't, Sammael. Not even I have the strength to kill you."

"Then why _have_ you come?" Lucifer asked, walking to his brother's side.

Azrael smiled. "I missed you. I am alone now, last of the first. I am the oldest still in Heaven—you Fell, Michael has long been gone, and Gabriel fled. Zachariah has taken command of Heaven. Nothing remains for me there, so here I am."

Lucifer faced him. "You're here to join me, brother?"

Nodding, Azrael gazed out over the river, the small beings that lived there. "I will not obey you, Sammael. But I do love you and I will fight for you. I will defend you."

Lucifer considered for a moment. "When Gabriel and Michael return, will you leave me?"

Again, Azrael smiled. "You think Michael will follow Zachariah's orders?" He laughed. "My children have met our brother in his new guise. Zachariah has already lost him and doesn't even realize it." He placed a hand on Lucifer's shoulder. "When you convince your other half to accept you, Michael will awaken."

Lucifer stared at him. "Azrael, what do you know?"

Instead of answering, because Azrael had never explained himself, he spread his wings and plunged off the cliff.

_Gabriel will follow Michael_, Lucifer heard Azrael say in his mind._ And if you reconnect, if you stop fighting the pull, if you convince Samuel Winchester to welcome you home, Michael will follow and arise, and we will be four again._

Lucifer watched his brother soar into the sky, wings pale silver and blue, until Azrael vanished from even his sight. Azrael would come back, he knew. Heaven held nothing for him without his brothers. If Gabriel refused to surface until Michael did, and Michael was gone until Sam Winchester said yes—well, it'd be a long time, for a human. But Lucifer breathed free air, and he could stretch his wings, and Sam would consent because they were two halves separated by eons.

He walked back to his chair and picked up Revelation, settling down to resume reading.

His brothers would return to him, and he would be whole again, and Creation would be theirs forever and ever, kingdom without end.

Closing his eyes, Lucifer stretched out with his half a soul, feeling for the rest. When he listened with those other ears, he heard a beloved voice call "Sammy" gruffly, in a tone full of anxiety—a big brother's tone. Lucifer sighed, relishing it.

Only to his brothers had he ever been Sammael. But soon, soon, when they were again four, Michael would smile and laugh and Lucifer would have _everything_.

"Sammy!" his brother's voice called a second time. "Duck!"

Yes, Azrael would come back, Sam would say yes, Michael would awaken, and Gabriel would follow.

Lucifer would cast away Hell and Satan, to reclaim Sammael. After eons, he'd shine brighter than the Son, as the Star of Morning, with his brothers at his side.

Let their father return, if he wished. He'd find a very different world than he left.


	188. and solitude my guide

**Title**: and solitude my guide

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 82

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Gabriel, Heaven or Earth

* * *

He left to escape the betrayal and pain and rage and all those things he really shouldn't have been feeling since, hello, _angel_, here? But he _did_ feel them and it didn't look like anyone else did, and no one was talking about Samm—Satan, Lucifer, the traitor and tempter, and he had been their _brother_, was _still_ their brother, and no one was _doing_ anything about it.

So he left, because anything had to be better than the silence of Heaven.


	189. we are all born dying to know

**Title**: we are all born dying to know

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Grace Bauer.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 5.10

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 950

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The pale horse prances out first, head high and tail flowing behind her. A shadow follows.

"Sammael," Azrael murmurs as the horse paws at the dirt, wings flaring. "How long have we been caged?"

"Eons, brother," Lucifer tells him. "Since the twelfth plague."

The horse bugles and Azrael places a hand on her shoulder. "Peace, beloved," he says. "Soon we'll ride."

Lucifer grins as Azrael looks around at his gathered army, waiting. "Return to your posts," he commands. "All but my daughter." The reapers depart until only one remains, wearing a young woman's shape. Lucifer gapes, but Azrael says, "Hush, brother. We'll speak in a moment."

"Father," the reaper says. She strides forward, stopping a step away. When the horse gently nudges her, she giggles, rubbing at the mare's ears. "Father," she repeats. "I found him."

Azrael smiles, placing a hand on her shoulder as he solidifies into a man wearing a dark cloak. "Well done, child," he tells her. "Go to him and I will follow."

She vanishes; Azrael looks up to meet Lucifer's eyes. "Shed that failing vessel, Sammael," he suggests. "Speak with me truly, no boundaries between us."

Lucifer nods and burns Nick away, until only the once-brightest of God's angels remains. Azrael steps close, studying Lucifer in silence for a moment. "You are as beautiful as the day you fell," he muses, slowly raising a hand to touch Lucifer's face. "Had I gone with you then…"

"We would have won," Lucifer declares, lightly nuzzling into the touch. "Michael would have followed you, and together—not even Father could've stood against us."

"You unlocked the door so that I'd join you," Azrael says, letting his hand fall.

"Yes." Lucifer spreads his hands, encompassing all the sacrifices. "Join me. This feast is just the beginning."

Hellhounds howl, filling the night. The pale mare responds with a scream that even Lucifer shudders to hear. The howling stops as the horse flicks her ears.

"Brother," Azrael calls, spinning to face his mare. "I follow no one, not even Father anymore. He caged me because I grew too powerful—you seek to chain me to your cause for the same reason." He leaps onto his horse and stares down at The Devil. "I let you live in thanks, Sammael. And because we are brothers." The mare rears, pale as moonlight, and her wings carry them into the sky.

Azrael's daughter is a bright beacon, calling him home to the human crafted as his house, the only thing besides his mare capable of surviving his glory.

Lucifer's packs howl again, sorrowful and angry. The mare snorts and Azrael throws back his head to laugh. "Beloved," he says, rubbing her shoulder around the base of her wing. "Can you feel him?"

_Yes_, she answers, a word that resounds from the top of the sky to the bottom of the ocean.

Death rides again, dark cloak billowing in the night air behind him, pale horse eating up the miles.

_Do you need a vessel?_ she asks. _Really? You are more powerful than anyone now_.

He chuckles, sending out a message to War, Pestilence, and Conquest. Each shudders at the contact, but fears to decline_. I need a vessel,_ he whispers to his familiar, _because I must understand Life. We are creatures of spirit, having never needed breath, but a vessel will complete my knowledge. _

_And what will happen to me when you've become human?_ she asks, tossing her head. _Will I have a place?_

Azrael stretches out over her neck. _My beloved_, he says, his own wings shadowing them now. _Even when I take my vessel, you will still be mine and I will be yours._ The mare nickers, ear flicking. He smiles, patting her shoulder.

His companions will meet him at the vessel's location, where his daughter already waits. Locked away in that cage, he had dreamed of living, the single thing he's never done. Now with wind in his hair and a beacon showing the way, he does not care what other plans may be in motion.

The mare lands by a building, head high, and tucks her wings away. She doesn't look like a normal horse anymore than he appears to be a normal man, but she is slightly less conspicuous now, to those few humans who might be capable of seeing her. His daughter stands by a beast he doesn't recognize, grinning.

Azrael strides to her, examining the creature. "What is that thing?" he asks, rubbing his mare's ear as she shoves her head over his shoulder.

His daughter pats the thing's head. "A 67 Chevy Impala," he says. "Your vessel's steed."

The pale mare snorts, stretching out to nudge it with her nose.

"He is marked," his daughter says, serious now. "Michael's claim shines all over him."

Azrael chuckles. "Well, that's too bad for my dear brother." He closes his eyes, reaching out with all his senses.

_You are yet an angel_, his mare tells him. _How will you convince him to agree?_

He places a hand on her nose, looking into her dark eye. _My brother_, he murmurs to her alone, _has placed a claim on him purely because of what his own brother is. But that man was born for me. Death has followed him, touched him, nearly taken him and let him go._ Azrael kisses the middle of her nose. _He is ours, my dear. He will say yes_.

Azrael turns and strides to the door. "Daughter," he calls over his shoulder. "When my companions arrive, tell them I'll be out soon."

Dean will consent because Azrael can promise something no one else is capable of: when Dean is Death, Sam Winchester will never die.


	190. first steps

**Title**: first steps

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**:Gabriel, leaving home

* * *

He doesn't make a big production of it like Sammael, or vanish in the quiet time like Michael. He says goodbye to Anachel and he wishes Castiel a happy day, and he lingers with a wistful glance to the spire of God's house, but that's it.

There's no point in staying here, where everyone is proper and quiet and no one mentions the war except to say how horrible Samm—_Lucifer_ was and they're glad he's gone.

Gabriel is not glad. Gabriel misses his brother, both of them. He misses Sammael's wit and Michael's strength, and he cannot be where they are not, where even the sky reminds him of watching them play tag among the clouds.

So he leaves.


	191. seven steps

**Title**: seven steps

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel, Dean/Anna

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel, envy of humans

* * *

In all his millennia, he'd never truly understood what drove humans to their jealousies or their rages or their melancholic despairs. He's never comprehended the depth of emotions, of their overwhelming control when finally surrendered to.

He had been envious of Anna—cannot use her first name, because it's not her true name because it's not one she chose... but neither, he thinks sometimes, is her human name, because her parents chose that one, didn't they? God gave her the first name, so it should be her true one, except God is gone now, out of reach, where his steadfast searching cannot find Him.

He had not understood envy or wrath or despair or lust. He had not understood pride except that it led to Lucifer's fall.

Watching Anna kiss Dean, he feels all seven of those deadly sins. Watching Anna kiss Dean, he wonders for just a moment how it would feel to surrender.

Choosing Dean, however, over Zachariah and Heaven's orders, is when Castiel decides for himself that even those seven sins are worth the price of devotion and love and the envy for what humans know at birth that he's never yet had the chance to learn.


	192. standing in the flames

**Title**: standing in the flames

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: OMC/Ruby, Ruby/Dean-ish

**Rating**: R

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 185

**Prompt**: Dean/Ruby (version 1.0), opportunity

* * *

Cliché as it is, she's playing with fire and she knows it. Thing is, though, that even back when she was a pale little whisp of a girl-child, cowering from her husband's meaty fists and dreaming of the words to damn them both, she adored the flames that he lit only on the darkest, coldest nights, when her flesh wasn't enough to keep him warm. She's never feared fire. She's worshipped it and danced with it, leaned into its caress and whispered _yes, yes, burn the world down, yes, take me whole._

Dean Winchester hates her. So she leans in close and grins at him, says things just to piss him off, lets him know that she can save him, if she wants, lets him know that Sam's following her lead and coming when she calls.

Dean Winchester hates her, but soon he'll be just like her, because Lilith and Alistair have such plans for him...

Sam is her endgame, her king and her lord, but Dean... if she has them both, she'll have it all, and she's always flourished under fire's touch.


	193. blood in the water

**Title**: blood in the water

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: Gabriel/Sam, implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 330

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Gabriel/Sam, they poured blood into his mouth

* * *

Gabriel's never really hated humans before. They've just always _been there_, little puppets for his amusement. If God loved them so much, maybe He'd show up and fix the things when Gabriel broke them, you know? But He hasn't yet, so here's hoping, right?

Anyway. He's never hated humans before.

But this—Dean's not moving in the corner, blood pooling around his head, which, as far as Gabriel knows, is not a good thing at all. Humans bleeding is generally bad for their health. And Sam—half a dozen men are holding him, at least three as big as he is, forcing his mouth open and pouring blood down his throat.

So, no, Gabriel has never hated humans before. He's never killed them just for existing before. He's never smote them except in one of his games, when they deserved it anyway.

But these men, they deserve it. They deserve it a _lot_.

Once the men are pieces of dust in the muggy air, Gabriel goes to Sam. He yells for Castiel, wondering why the kid isn't there already, helping his human, and gets a short response—_dodging Zachariah, what?_

_Your boy's in trouble_, he says. _I suggest you hurry_.

Gabriel makes sure Dean stops bleeding, but he doesn't know enough about human physiology to actually get in there and fix whatever's broken. He looks down at Sam, blood still on his face, and gently wipes it away.

He's never hated humans before, but he's never really loved them, either. Sam blinks up at him, finally back from wherever he took himself to escape, and mutters, "Dean?"

"He'll be fine," Gabriel says as Castiel pops in to make it true. _You tell me what to do,_ Gabriel says, _and I'll heal him_.

Together, they mend their humans and Gabriel vows to keep a better eye on the stupid kids, because humans are a vicious pack of animals.

They do have their highpoints, though, he thinks, watching Sam check on Dean.


	194. battlelines drawn

**Title**: battle-lines drawn

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 135

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: any, the wrong side

* * *

Zachariah does not understand these foolish humans, these puny, little, fragile beings that his Father had loved above all else. He offers them the chance to change things, to save the world, and they practically spit in his face. Dean, especially.

Honestly, how many men have the chance to house Michael's glory? To destroy the Adversary? Zachariah cannot comprehend why Dean is so stubborn, so blind and confused.

There are only two sides here, after all. Heaven's… and Hell's. To deny one is to choose the other, and Dean clearly hates demons, loathes Hell. So why would he choose Hell over Heaven?

(What Zachariah does not see is the third side—the Winchesters'. And even if he saw it, he still wouldn't understand, and he'd believe that it, like any but his, to be wrong.)


	195. the third side

**Title**: the third side

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: implied Sam/Gabriel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 210

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam/Gabriel, Gabriel choosing a side

* * *

He stays inside the circle for hours after it burns out, after the Winchesters and Castiel leave him. He thinks back to life before he left Heaven, to Michael and Sammael-Lucifer-Satan and endless, everlasting light. He remembers and he wonders and he hates God for what all has happened, but he loves God _because_ it happened, too, and he's clearly been on Earth too long. He's even thinking like a human now.

He remembers when Sam begged him to return Dean to life, when Sam shoved him against the fence and threatened him, when Sam and Dean worked together to trick him, the archangel who went by Coyote for a few dozen centuries.

He remembers Sam asking him for help, to join them against both Heaven and Hell, and maybe that's not such a bad idea.

Dean and Sam can't be tracked by angelic methods, and who knew Castiel was so clever? Clearly, everyone's been underestimating the kid. But he'll be sticking close to the boys for the next few days, so all Gabriel(and it's so _weird_ thinking of himself like that, after so long) has to do is find him.

He wonders if he'll get earnest!Sam, thankful!Sam, or pissed!Sam when he shows up. It'll be fun to find out.


	196. the only choice

**Title**: the only choice

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: gennish

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 160

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Cass, Why would you want to fall?

* * *

Dean, Castiel knows, truly does not understand. The man thought he deserved Hell, and will never believe that anyone would want to save him.

Dean honestly believed that he should stay with Alistair in Perdition, that he had earned nothing more than an eternity of torment and suffering and damnation.

Castiel did his duty in carrying Dean back to Earth, in pouring his ravaged soul into his equally ravaged flesh, in healing him with Heavenly grace. Castiel did his duty in guiding Dean, in aiding him, in protecting him from Alistair.

Castiel did not do his duty when he showed Dean a way around Chuck's prophecy, or in sending Dean to Lilith's corpse and Sam. Castiel did not do his duty when he fought Raphael, too late in giving Dean a chance to stop Sam from breaking the final Seal.

Dean asks, when Castiel sides with him against Heaven and Hell and hunters, why he would.

Castiel shares a glance with Sam and simply smiles. Dean will never understand why anyone would choose him, not really, but at least Castiel is not alone in the choice.


	197. I know that the Son will rise

**Title**: I know that the Son will rise

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; the horrid pun of the title comes from "Endless Night" of the _Lion King_ musical

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 110

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel, "Endless Night" (from the Lion King the Musical).

* * *

He watches the stars now, whenever he rests, from valleys and mountain tops, at the sea shore and the middle of a desert night.

He can name them all, using their true Creator-given title. He can close his eyes and remember their births, when God wove them from Himself and spread them amongst the cosmos.

_Father_, he calls into the night, straining with everything he has to hear an answer. _Father!_

Sometimes he stays out all night, and he lets the dawn warm him. Sometimes he leaves and goes to the Winchesters, stands guard to let them sleep. Sometimes, he quiets their sleep and wishes that someone would quiet his mind.


	198. tomorrow's problem

**Title**: tomorrow's problem

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 4

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt: **Azazel & wee!Dean, "You're the one who kills me? Really?"

* * *

He watches from the shadows as they bring newborn Dean Winchester home from the hospital. He's pink and tiny, mewling, disgusting like all young humans are. They could at least have the decency to be somewhat cute, like baby snakes. Honestly.

He watches from the shadows for six months, and then he slithers into Dean's nursery while sweet Mary and soldier-boy with the easily-breakable neck try for a second kid down the hall.

"_You're_ the one who kills me?" he asks the snuffling brat. "Really?"

Dean blinks up at him. Azazel stretches out a tendril of smoke, gently touches the soft cheek.

"I could kill you right now, kiddo," he murmurs. "Like I did your daddy. Like I will your mama, when the time comes. It's quite clear you'll be an annoyance in the days ahead."

He remembers Dean's smirk, his quiet surety. His anger.

"No," he decides. "One day, when you're tall and strong, you'll be so much fun to torment." He lightly pats Dean's cheek, then mutters "What the hell," leaning down to brush sulfuric lips against Dean's forehead.

He vanishes, cackling, as Dean begins to wail.


	199. and that's strike three

**Title**: and that's strike three

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU during season 3

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 265

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"You really want to stop touching him," Dean says quietly. His eyes flick from yours to the monster in your grip.

"Dean," you say. "You know it's better this way. You can't do what needs to be done, so I will. Simple as that."

"No," he disagrees. "It's really not."

The monster whimpers, flinching back from your consecrated dagger. "You see that?" you ask him. "Even he knows what he is."

Dean's expression hardens even more and he steps forward. You back up, and the monster cries out as your dagger breaks its skin.

"Dean," the monster calls.

"Let him go, Gordon," Dean commands, and there's more than just anger in his tone. Now he's pleading. "He's not… you've got it all wrong."

"No," you say. "You love him, Dean. I get it, I do. I loved my sister. But when she turned—he _will_ turn, Dean. It's in his blood. And then we're all gonna burn."

Dean closes his eyes and lets the hand holding the gun fall to his side. "It's in his blood," he echoes softly.

The monster thrashes weakly in your grip; the drugs must be wearing off. You need to kill him before they're fully gone, but you don't want to destroy Dean. He'd be such a great ally, and he's a marvelous piece of work. Winchester did good when he trained Dean.

"Dean," you say again. "Dean, don't you see—"

And Dean's arm arrows up, pulling the trigger as the back of Sam's head slams into your face.

You don't see or hear or feel anything after that.


	200. visions are seldom what they seem

**Title**: visions are seldom what they seem

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Disney's _Sleeping Beauty_.

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5; AU (I assume)

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The amulet was cold cradled in his palm, colder than it should have been considering it'd spent the better part of twenty years against Dean's skin.

He flew with the amulet on its cord around his neck, from one edge of the cosmos to the other, and it never burned. He searched and he prayed, and Father never revealed Himself.

So he returned to Dean Winchester and he handed back the amulet and he did not notice when it shone a brighter gold than it'd been in his presence alone.

(No one recognizes the divine when it stands before them.)


	201. the dearest remembrance

**Title**: the dearest remembrance will still be the last

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Lord Byron

**Warnings**: spoilers for 4.12

**Pairings**: one-sided Jay/Charlie

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 290

**Point of view**: third

* * *

_Hey, kid, wanna see a trick?_

o0o

Jay was twelve when they met, Charlie a worldly fifteen. Jay was cheating at cards in the backroom of a bar he shouldn't have set foot in, but the proprietor was one of Pop's friends.

He was playing with three dock workers, men who didn't have much and didn't like being fleeced by a kid, so when George Markos realized Jay was cheating, he picked Jay up by his collar and would have kicked the snot out of him.

But Charlie stepped in, smooth-talked George down, and bought a round for all three men, then ushered Jay out.

"Kid," he said, "you really gotta be better before you try that con again."

o0o

Jay was twenty-five when they met, Vernon pulling a dove out of mid-air. Charlie was scoping out hotels, Jay walking around the boardwalk. Vernon was telling people to pick a card, any card, and Jay watched his sleight of hand: good, but not as good as Charlie. No one was as good as Charlie.

Jay invited Vernon to supper and Vernon said yes.

o0o

They were closer than friends; the three of them became family. Jay always wondered what would happen if he leaned down and tasted Charlie's lips, but he never quite found the courage, and then they were old. They were so old. They were the walking dead; pretty soon, the Reaper would come with his scythe and Jay would be out of chances.

He was so tired of being weak, being a laughingstock, being too afraid to see what Charlie's lips tasted like.

When he didn't die, he vowed to kiss Charlie. When he survived the next night, he made the same vow.

He never did kiss Charlie.


	202. ten for the devil his own self

**Title**: ten for the devil his own self

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; the title is from one version of a children's nursery rhyme.

**Warnings**: AU from "Lazarus Rising"

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 300

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"Last one opens, and?" Dean asked, all wide-eyed innocence and disbelief. He had his doubts, and was wise to do so.

"Lucifer walks free," Castiel intoned, solemn and righteous, an Angel of the Lord.

A liar, and a traitor, and a desecration to all that was once holy, once pure.

He looked deep into Dean's soul and smiled a secret, well-hidden smile.

_We have work for you_, he'd said, giving Dean something he craved and needed—a task. Let Sam have his quest for vengeance; Dean needed a purpose. Castiel and Ruby shared glances in passing, pretending to not see each other, and all was so very wrong in the world.

"Last one opens, and?" Dean asked, not wanting to believe but beginning to nonetheless.

"Lucifer walks free," Castiel answered, guide and guardian, savior, the Angel of the Lord who pulled Dean from the Pit.

Tempter without a fruit, leading astray one of the most important men since Judas Iscariot collected a bag of silver.

Castiel rescued him from Hell. Castiel gave him a task. Castiel offered guidance often rejected, and accepted Dean as a flawed man who still tried his hardest all the same.

And when the final choice came, when Castiel chose Dean over Heaven and helped him against everyone—it was the sweetest victory since Eve bit into that powerless fruit and damned the world.

"Last one opens, and?" Dean asked, still so innocent despite Alistair's careful ministrations. So young compared to Castiel, to Alistair, to the being whose door he had begun to open when he took that bloody razor from Alistair's hand.

"Lucifer walks free," Castiel lied.

Even Ruby, that darling girl, didn't fully understand, but when she led Sam to Lilith, they all won, and Lucifer's wings finally stretched completely free of their cage.


	203. once the brightest

**Title**: once the brightest

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AUish (written before "Abandon All Hope")

**Pairings**: Lucifer/Castiel(ish), a smidge of implied Sam/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 230

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer and Castiel have a history (love/lust/whathaveyou) and they meet again when Lucifer is in Sam's body (there could also be something between Sam and Castiel).

* * *

"This vessel doesn't quite do you justice," Satan tells him, circling him. "It is nice enough, though."

Castiel turns, keeping his eyes on Satan at all times.

"Ah, Castiel, don't use that name," Satan says. "Lucifer, if you can't stomach my first."

Sam's eyes burn him, when used by Satan. The desecration hurts far more than expected.

He wonders where Dean is.

"Don't think of him," Satan commands, stopping to lean in close. "It's just us here, so keep your mind on _me_, boy."

Castiel looks away. "Are you—did you bring me back?" he asks quietly. It's not what he meant to say—he wants to rant and rail, to demand his once-beloved brother leave Sam's body, let Sam go.

"No, Castiel," Satan murmurs just as quietly. "Had I known Raphael's actions, I would have. But I did not learn of your foolish battle until later." He steps in even closer, until there would no be space between to breathe, had either of them required it. "And I told you, little brother—call me Lucifer."

Closing his eyes, Castiel tries to will himself away. Anywhere. But his once-beloved brother, the brightest of them all, the Star of Morning, speaks and he cannot do anything except listen. "Or even Sam would work," he whispers, pressing his lips to Castiel's forehead.

"After all," he says, stepping back, grinning brightly. "That is my name."


	204. breathe in, breathe out, move on

**Title**: breathe in, breathe out, move on

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Jimmy Buffet

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to 3.10

**Rating**: PG

**Pairings**: mentions of het

**Wordcount**: 65

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Bobby, Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes

* * *

She wasn't his first experience with the supernatural, just the worst. He'd seen the truth before her, but until then, he didn't acknowledge it. He didn't believe it.

He couldn't have saved her then. He can admit that now, with all the years between. He couldn't have saved her as that foolish, blind, arrogant boy.

That doesn't make living with it any easier.


	205. before there was time

**Title**: before there was time

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer!Sam, first drops of hellfire

* * *

He stands on a mountaintop. Everest, he thinks its called. Tallest mountain in the world. Or maybe that other one is, the next-door neighbor. Doesn't matter.

He stands on a mountaintop and watches fire rain, scorching and burning, the first true sign of the end of days.

At least, the first true sign the weak, pathetic, sniveling sacks of flesh can understand.

In truth, the world--humanity's world--has been ending for nearly thirty years, now. Maybe even longer. _Perhaps_, he thinks, studying the play of flames against a gray sky, _this realm has been on this path since Azazel met Mary Campbell._

_Yes_, he decides, smiling as his brother appears on the horizon, wings sizzling as litle drops of hellfire hit his glorious wings.

Michael's sword is in his hand, death on his heart, and Lucifer thinks, _That's when it all began to end._


	206. desolation and desecration

**Title**: desolation and desecration (blasphemy of Sam)

**Disclaimer**: not my charcters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: implied Sam/Gabriel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 295

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Gabriel/Sam, Lucifer, "I must despise you now."

* * *

Every angel yet remaining, fallen and not, knew the instant Lucifer slipped inside Sam's skin. He flexed his wings, stretched his spine, and sighed in pleasure.

"Sam!" his brother screamed, lunging for him; Castiel caught him, eyes wide and desolate, and quickly spirited him away.

But Gabriel stayed, watching, and grief filled him to the brim, exploding out in anger.

Lucifer withstood all of his attacks, of course, desperate and uncoordinated. Lucifer was better, had always been better—the best of them all, save Michael.

Michael. He'd probably be appearing soon, if Dean's despair had anything to say about it.

"Ah, brother," Lucifer purred, a desecration of Sam's voice. He sauntered over, a stride Gabriel had never seen Sam take.

It burned him, the blasphemy of Sam, and Gabriel lashed out again, screaming things even he couldn't understand over the tempest whirling in and around him.

Through it all, Satan stood to Sam's full height, smirked a smirk Sam never had, and slowly spread his wings.

"You can choose me, you know," Satan finally said, cutting through Gabriel's rage. "You can be by my side."

"No," Gabriel replied, folding his wings in tight, glaring at the Adversary. "I _despise_ you."

Satan reached out with Sam's hand and Gabriel jerked back. "You love this body, though, don't you?" He held up a hand, moving the fingers and examining Sam's skin. "He is impressive, isn't he? I'd honestly begun to think he'd forever deny me this…" He paused and smiled, slow and sweet. "This paradise."

"When Michael comes—" Gabriel started, and Satan cut him off with a laugh.

"Michael would already be here," Satan said. "Now, either join me—or be gone from my sight."

With one final, heartbroken glance to Sam's face, Gabriel fled.


	207. when the rich wage war

**Title**: when the rich wage war

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic; dark

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 320

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel/Raphael, on your knees

* * *

He tore Castiel apart. He remembers that. A mere scholar of an angel, weak and dissident, lacking God's Grace and strength and the fury of the righteous smiting a blasphemer.

He tore Castiel apart with ease, with the might of Heaven behind him, with surety and knowledge—God's will and God's wrath, God's hands on Earth. An archangel. The best of all His creations.

Castiel trapped him and demanded answers, having been returned to life by the Adversary. No one else had the raw power to do such a thing, save Michael and God, and neither would have done it—so Satan had revealed his favorites: the traitor and the vessels.

Castiel trapped him once, a result of Raphael's arrogance and shock. Castiel trapped him once and showed just how far he'd fallen.

And now…

"Kneel," the Adversary demands of all the hosts, of all the garrisons, of Heaven itself.

Raphael clenches his fists as Zachariah postures. No one is surprised when the Adversary strikes him down with a simple gesture.

"Kneel," the Adversary commands. "Kneel or perish."

Dean did not say yes. Dean did not say yes and Father is still gone and Michael is a bodiless spirit, easily destroyed by Lucifer's smile.

Castiel strides forward, filled with profane power, and he pauses before Raphael. "Kneel," he says quietly. "On your knees, if you desire life."

He tore Castiel apart, once. He tore Castiel apart, and yet here Castiel stands, with Lucifer and Michael's defiant vessel, and there is nothing to be done.

Raphael takes a deep breath, arches his wings, and lunges forward.

He tore Castiel apart, once. But that was before, and Castiel is now more than his equal.

The Adversary laughs, the brother—who should have said yes, should have said yes, how _dare_ he refuse—smirks, and Castiel stands victorious.

"Kneel!" the Adversary roars.

All who remain, terrified and angry and desperate, do.


	208. visions and delusions

**Title**: visions and delusions

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 235

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, Cas feels a world apart whilst Dean's asleep.

* * *

Angels do not need sleep. Even now, when he knows that his grace is almost completely gone, he is not physically tired.

Emotionally, yes--his soul (that tiny light left of Heaven) is exhausted. Every day seems longer than the one before, especially now that he finally grasps just how _frail_ humans are.

(Jo. Ellen. He asks their forgiveness and does not feel anything but what Sam defines as grief.)

But Dean sleeps. Sam sleeps. While they rest, Castiel searches the cosmos and the ground, seeking any hint of Father, but Father refuses to be found.

He watches their dreams sometimes, especially Dean's. Castiel knows that humans need sleep to recharge, to be able to function at peak condition, but Dean's dreams do not seem conducive to functionality. In his dreams, he is back in Hell or at Cold Oak. In his dreams, he is either the tormented or tormentor, or the survivor clutching close his brother's corpse.

Castiel has lost the ability to sweeten Dean's dreams; all he can do now is watch, and that seems so remote. So useless. He was never the most able soldier, but as a scholar, he excelled, designed—so he had always believed—by Father's hands. And now he is nothing but an observer, unable to help Dean sleep or exorcise a demon.

All he can do now is fly, search. Hope.

All he can do is pray.


	209. the Judas lullaby

**Title**: the Judas lullaby

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: slight AU

**Pairings**: Sam/Ruby

**Rating**: R

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 230

**Prompt**: Ruby, "I can't promise to obey you. I can't swear I won't betray you,  
Or that when the morning comes I won't take flight."

* * *

She turns, keeping her eyes on Dean even as she listens to Sam. Hell has changed him, her one true competitor—he's darker, leaner, far more dangerous than before Alistair sank in with fang and claw.

He doesn't trust her, which is fine since she only trusts him with Sam's safety. Even that, though, he refuses to give her.

He'll kill her the first chance he gets, with or without Sam's blessing. And while Sam has needed her, these past few months, those days are gone with Dean's return.

Damn him. He couldn't have stayed below just a few days(monthsyears_eons_) longer? Everything would have been finalized then. Sam would be hers, body and soul, bound to do her bidding, sworn to her plan. He would unleash the Star of Morning, clothe her king in his flawless form, and finally all would be well.

But instead Dean is back, Dean watchful and wary, Dean dangerous in ways she hasn't seen since last she lay beneath Alistair.

She will have to be wary in turn, keep an eye on him at all times, be ready to flee at half a moment's notice. Nothing can get in the way of releasing the LightBringer.

She wishes killing him were allowed, but Sam would never forgive her. Even still, sometimes she pictures how Dean would look, gutted and torn open, eyes staring at the sky.


	210. growing fonder

**Title**: growing fonder

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 185

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel, "Absence is such a large house that you'll walk through the walls, hang pictures in sheer air."

* * *

Sometimes, after Dean has drifted away into dreams of Alistair's caress and Azazel's laugh, Sam will quietly ask Castiel to tell him of Heaven and all the wonders found there.

The images are still bright in his mind, though he lacks the words with his clumsy human tongue. He can still taste ambrosia, still feel the eternal spring breeze through the pure feathers of his wings, still hear how the choirs sang Father's praise, can still smell the untainted air of Paradise.

The lack is remote now, far enough away to no longer hurt, and he softly spins tales that he knows are lies, that Sam believes only because he wants to, and, too, Castiel knows, he is growing more human by the heartbeat.

Heaven's absence no longer aches. He fills up the wounds with apple pie and Led Zeppelin, with jokes and shared silence, with a road that stretches from one ocean to another (with two men who define _brother_ better than any angel he ever knew).

He survived the war, and if the price is being cast out, so be it.


	211. nature vs nurture

**Title**: nature vs nurture

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 275

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer/Michael, after all of the long years, he's still too proud to ask for forgiveness

* * *

"I did nothing wrong," he says every time they meet, from the Garden onward. "I did nothing wrong, and I shall not repent. I am blameless in this."

"And what of all that happened next?" Michael asks, each time. The same lines, nothing new, millennia after millennia.

Lucifer shrugs, eyes gazing past Michael to the Earth, to the kingdom he claimed when a serpent twined around Eve. "Your father gave them free will, brother. I offered them a choice."

"He was your father, too, upon a time," Michael says.

"Yes," Lucifer agrees. "Upon a time."

And now here they are, wreathed in brothers, angry and hurting and knowing that the time has finally come.

"Will you repent?" Michael asks.

Lucifer's humanflesh is ripped and torn, blood seeping out. Michael's wings are arched, dripping bile from a thousand demon corpses.

"I did nothing wrong," Lucifer whispers. "Not then and not now," he continues, voice getting stronger with every word. "I was right—they are not worthy of our adoration. They are weak, and flawed, and look at what they have done to their glorious Garden!" He glares up at Michael, and where any other angel would have swung with God's Sword, Michael pauses.

"You are in Sam Winchester," Michael asks, "and still you say that?"

Millennia pass in a handspan of human heartbeats, and Michael lowers God's Sword. "Upon a time," he says, "we flew the cosmos together."

Lucifer nods. "Those were good days."

"For the wrath and the pride, I forgive you," Michael tells him. "Will you come home with me?"

Lucifer strikes, and Michael dodges, and they will never fly the cosmos again.


	212. fear the thunder, fear the sword

**Title**: fear the thunder, fear the sword

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5; future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 65

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, thunder

* * *

He remembers the thunder that resounded in the deep, that first moment he saw Dean Winchester, covered in blood and bathed in screams, razor in hand and eyes blacker than eternity.

Standing here, now, watching Dean wield Michael's sword, he hears thunder again. His body resounds with it.

Lightning comes alongside Lucifer, wearing Sam, and Castiel hurries to Dean.


	213. on the seventh day

**Title**: on the seventh day

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5; so sugary your teeth might hurt; maybe smidges of blasphemy

**Pairings**: mentions of John/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1030

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He has watched, silent and apart, since Father left for another sky. He has not set foot on Earth or stirred a wing in Heaven since Father departed. And so he sees when Zachariah begins to assert control over the choirs and garrisons, when Zachariah decrees God dead and Michael waiting.

But Father is not dead, merely out of reach. And Michael knows He will return, if His children sincerely call. But none of Michael's brothers or sisters do, and so he watches.

He sees when the heir of Cain weds the hunter's daughter. He hears the call of their firstborn's blood, as loud as God's laugher eons ago, before the war. And then the second son, nearly as familiar, singing Sammael's song.

_Ah, Father_, he murmurs. _I understand_.

Zachariah and Azazel both notice, but comprehend nothing in truth, and Michael could take action—but Father's hand is in this and until given an explicit instruction, Michael will hold back. He still feels a shred of anger, a tendril of hurt, that his family left without him. First his brother in rebellion, and then his Father without a word. Michael has sometimes wondered, in the millennia that have passed since those days, what is so wrong with him that the two beings closest to him in all creation felt chased away.

Michael watches until Sam leaves his brother and father, and then he turns away, travels to a far side of the sky, and languishes in turmoil for a little while. Perhaps he is being foolish, acting like a melodramatic human child he has never been—it doesn't matter. There is no one to hold him accountable, so he doesn't care. But he feels Dean's pain when his father dies, and he sends soothing dreams in the days just after. And then Dean's anguish at Sam's death causes Michael to reach out and clutch Sam's soul, holding the bright light close to keep it safe from both Hell and Zachariah's Heaven.

_Be safe, little brother_, Michael whispers as he lets Sam return to his body.

In merely a blink, Dean is in Hell and Michael suffers with him, feels the taint of Alistair's touch. _Be strong_, he tells the man embodying his other half. _You will be saved._

But Dean breaks and Michael knows the time has almost arrived. His brother stands at the threshold; the first lock is turned by Michael's own hand. And soon—one heartbeat later—the final lock is ripped open by Lucifer's own fury, in the form of Sam Winchester.

And finally, Michael steps back into the world when his fallen sister kills Sam Winchester. He catches the fleeing soul and holds it to his heart, giving Dean exactly what he expects to hide his true intentions from Zachariah's grasp.

Lucifer will understand, of course, because they are so very alike. But Dean will not, not yet, and neither can Zachariah.

_Be safe, little brother_, he says again, directly to Sam's soul as he uses Father's gift with Father's permission.

God saved Castiel, so Michael knows He has returned, though not yet announced Himself. To Michael, though (and to Lucifer)—He has shouted from the top of the sky.

Michael looks into Dean Winchester's eyes and sees himself. Dean will never give up on his brother. Will never kill Sam, or truly be against him.

_I understand_, Michael says. _Father, if it be Your will, so shall it be done_.

The heir of Cain and the hunter's daughter—in them, Michael sees their sons, all through the generations since Sammael refused to bow. In Mary's strength and John's determination, Michael sees his Father, his King.

Michael does not need Dean's permission, as he needed John's. And Lucifer has no need of Sam's.

_Brother_, Michael calls, traveling through time, carrying Dean and Sam and Castiel's weary form. _Brother, I would speak with you_.

_I'll meet you at the Garden_, Lucifer replies. _We have much to discuss_.

This is God's will, Michael knows. This is God's will, not the perversion Zachariah has planned, not what all the angels and demons expect.

Michael leaves the Winchesters and their angel safely in a hotel room, then he goes to the Garden to wait for his brother. He stands in the rain, wings spread, feeling God's warmth spiraling from his heart on out, until he is full and gasping with wonder. He has not felt so complete, so loved, since before Lucifer fell and Father left.

_Brother_, Lucifer says, and Michael turns. Lucifer has left behind his failing vessel; he is Sammael again, glorious and bright, the Light Bringing Star of Morning.

_I will not fight you_, Michael tells him. _Not this time. I believe—I know that Father has something else in mind._

_I, too, have felt that change,_ Lucifer agrees, watching Michael warily. _But your Heaven mites have kept hunting me and mine._

Michael chuckles, settling his wings at his back. _Zachariah is following his own will now, using our Father's name._

_And now, Father has come back_, Lucifer muses. He stretches his wings, sighing as the water settles onto his fathers and flesh. Lucifer meets Michael's eyes_. I do not repent my choice, though I regret what all has come from it._

_And that,_ Michael says, _is why Father has returned to us now_.

Lucifer nods. _It will not be easy, Michael_.

Michael smiles. _What has been for us?_ He holds out a hand. _Sammael. Little brother. Come back with me._

Lowering his wings, Lucifer steps forward. Almost shyly, with great hesitation, he places his palm in Michael's_. I wish_, he says, _that you had gone with me._

_I couldn't then,_ Michael tells him. _Now I can_. He embraces his brother for the first time since Lucifer threw himself from Heaven, and the rain passes, leaving them in gentle sunlight.

_Well_, Lucifer says softly, wrapping his wings around Michael. _What do we do?_

_We go see our vessels, _Michael tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. _And then we deal with Zachariah._

Lucifer nods and they untangle, taking to the sky.

_Father_, Michael calls. _Father, are You with us?_

The world brightens and he has his answer.


	214. what shall come in future days

**Title**: what shall come in future days

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton.

**Warnings**: character death; misuses of time travel

**Pairings**: mentions of John/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 535

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The world in 1992 is very bright. John Winchester already has a reputation in the hunting world, though there is much he has not yet learned.

Only angels can travel through time, and even they rarely do. It is dangerous and difficult, a last-ditch-effort when everything else has failed. It often backfires. Nearly impossible to pull off.

He must do this. Kill Lucifer's vessel before he is a warrior, before Azazel's final phase, before the boy is too powerful to be stopped. Kill him now, when he is nothing more than a child. Kill him before he damns the world with him.

In 1992, Dean and his little brother are walking down a street discussing superheroes. Dean says that Batman beats all, but Sam favors Green Lantern. When Dean asks which one, a new debate is sparked.

Dean is on-guard because he always is, but he is no match for a desperate archangel.

"Sammy!" he screams as his baby brother is held high above him by the Angel of the Sun.

Uriel places a hand to Sam's small, fragile chest and burns him away before three large beats of his massive wings carry him out of sight.

On his knees, Dean's gasps become sobs.

o0o

Twenty years later, when Dean Winchester makes a deal with Alistair.

The angels are soundly defeated and even without Lucifer free, Creation still burns. Finally, when only a single angel is left, a scholarly type who only ever watched humanity from afar and fought for Heaven because he always did his duty, throws himself backwards through time. He lands in 1987 and catches his breath, wondering how to fix things when he doesn't even know what went wrong in the first place.

Should he kill Dean Winchester? Annihilate the threat while he's still a boy? Maybe that would be best.

So Castiel finds Dean, sleeping next to his baby brother, and quietly stops the boy's heart.

o0o

Twenty years later, Sam Winchester leads Azazel's army and frees Lucifer from his cage, welcomes the MorningStar into his body, and burns Creation until Heaven falls from the sky.

No angels remain to attempt changing anything, until Gabriel disguised as a trickster sneaks out of reality and meanders his way to 1980. He whispers in Mary Winchester's ear and the lullabies she sings become protective rites. No angel or demon can find her son and everything is fine until she contracts laryngitis. For three weeks she doesn't sing a note and when she resumes, her taste has moved on to the Beatles.

Azazel returns to complete their deal; Dean is safe for three more years, but Sam never is.

o0o

Twenty years later, Lilith feasts on Sam's soul and sets her long-imprisoned lover free.

In a last-ditch-effort, with the last of his strength, Michael flings himself into 1990. He shoves everything he has left into a small amulet and hands it to the hunter who finds him dying on a cold South Dakota winter night.

"Give this to the Winchesters," he commands with his final breath.

o0o

Twenty years later, when Anna tries to kill Sam by killing his mother, Michael stops her and resets the world.

Only angels can travel through time, and it never works.


	215. when we reach Jerusalem

**Title**: When we reach Jerusalem

**Disclaimer**: totally not my creations

**Warnings**: blasphemy? Spoilers for season three. I wrote this before all of season five's revelations regarding the Winchesters.

**Pairings**: if you infer what I've implied, there's Satan/Michael and Sam/Dean

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**: 575

* * *

When he fell, Sammael tried to pull Michael down with him.

Sometimes, Michael wishes Yahweh hadn't interceded and that he'd fallen with his brother.

Separately, they watch Azazel's plan unfold; neither knows the other has a favorite. Michael hopes that Sam sways Dean to his side, so they'll be together forever. But Satan wishes for Dean to stay strong and ease his brother back from the abyss.

Michael aids Sam where he can, whispering knowledge into his dreams. He lends the boy his strength for the battles with demons.

Satan murmurs soothing words in the night, warding Dean from bad dreams. He punishes the dealmaker who takes Dean's bargain, sending it deep into the Pit after Sam's execution. Satan commands Lilith to release the boy, but it has been eons since she heeded his word.

_Why do you torture yourself so?_ Uriel asks Michael. Ashmedai has the same question for Satan.

Neither replies, for the answer is filled by millennia of regret.

On the eve of war, Michael approaches Satan in the middle-place. They haven't stood so close since the Fall.

_Hello, brother,_ Michael says.

_No one has named me that since you._ Satan looks at him for a long moment. _Why are you here?_

Michael hesitates, gaze skittering away before returning. _I need your forgiveness, Sammael, _he finally whispers.

Satan flinches at the name.

Continuing, Michael steps closer. _I should have fallen with you. I… I regret that I did not, that Father stopped me._

_No, Michael, _Satan says harshly. _You can't mean that_.

(On the battlefield, Sam offers Dean his hand. "Come with me," he implores. "Please.")

Michael reaches out, fingers soft on Satan's face. _We should never have been enemies._

Satan jerks back, knocking Michael's arm away. He hisses, _We could never be anything else._

Lowering his head, Michael entreats, _Forgive me. You have been lonely, I know. As have I._

Snarling, Satan backs up further. _Leave, Michael. Return to your Father, your armies. I'll see you at the frontline._ He straightens his spine, wings flaring out_. As it was always meant to be._

("I can't," Dean replies, agony in his voice. "I can't.")

Michael rears back, pain in his eyes. _I will see you_, he says, taking to the air. _And you'll understand then._

Satan watches him go and whispers, _Goodbye, brother_.

("Please," Sam begs. "I don't want to destroy you, Dean."

Dean looks out over the destruction, fire in the sky and blood soaking the ground.)

Michael does not lead the angels. Uriel can't sense him.

**He is gone**, Yahweh rumbles. Uriel bows his head.

Satan searches and finally locates Michael on the far edge of the battle. He defends himself against both sides, killing either with ease, but does not initiate any fight.

_What are you doing?_ Satan demands.

Michael slashes him with a piercing glance. _Showing you._

_Go back to Heaven!_ Satan roars. _It is your place, ever at your Father's side._

_No! _Michael roars back.

Both demons and angels pause, attention caught.

("Sammy…" A sob catches in Dean's throat. "Can't you stop this?"

"No." Sam's voice is infinitely gentle. "It's too late for that.")

_Why are you doing this?_ Satan asks, completely at a loss. _After the Son, you are His favorite._

Michael slowly moves closer. _I made a mistake, Sammael. All those ages ago, I made a terrible mistake, and I've paid for it._

He holds out a hand.

_Forgive me, brother._

(Dean closes his eyes.)


	216. meatsuits and vessels

**Title**: meatsuits and vessels, and the ground in-between

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 410

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural,Lucifer/Castiel/Michael,wearing vessels

* * *

None of them actually need meatsuits, of course. Bodies of flesh and bone and blood are useful for interaction with Father's lesser creations, but the final war will happen with or without them.

Demons enjoy wearing flesh. It's warm and cozy, and hearing the soul scream while the body does something horrific is _such_ fun. Angels feel constrained, tethered and chained, but because it is necessary, they ask permission and take care to not damage the vessel too much, and then heal their host as they leave.

Michael's first human vessel is named John Winchester. As he speaks to John's son, he can feel John crumbling around him, weak and human and not enough to house the glory of God's Weapon. But he is careful and ensures that John will be even better after the possession. And he knows that Dean will be able to take him all.

Lucifer's first human vessel dies the moment Lucifer takes him, and the body doesn't last much longer. Lucifer wears him without care; Nick is nothing except the means to an end, and only Samuel will actually be enough.

Castiel talks to Jimmy, asks questions and answers queries. Whenever Dean says something that doesn't make sense, Castiel goes to Jimmy for clarification. After the re-indoctrination, though, Jimmy refuses to communicate at all, so Castiel gently tucks Jimmy away and lets him sleep, dreaming of Amelia and Claire. And after Raphael tears Castiel apart, Jimmy is no longer there. Castiel is alone and so little makes sense, but Father has returned. Of that, he is sure.

As Michael and Lucifer spiral toward their true vessels, Castiel feels himself growing more human, his wings tattering while the body that was once Jimmy's hungers.

Dean and Sam will never say yes, he knows. So why his brothers don't just battle it out in their true bodies, he has no idea.

Of course, he thinks, watching Dean and Sam eat dinner, wondering if a triple bacon burger can possibly taste as good as he remembers it tasting, even Michael has his pride. Maybe the fact that Dean refuses to submit is the only reason why Michael still pursues him. And Lucifer merely wants Sam to fall.

"Here," Dean grouses, handing over half his burger. "Quit givin' me Sam's puppy-eyes."

Lucifer and Michael will fail.

Castiel bites into the burger and finds that, yes, it tastes just as good as it did beneath Famine's influence. Maybe even better.


	217. four white mice

**Title**: four white mice will never be four white horses

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Cinderella.

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired, but takes place pre-series

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 620

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

Why do you fight for them, kiddo? A few would try to help you, if they saw you in trouble, but most? Most would stab you in the back, or call the cops on you, or curse your name, if they knew it. They think you're a threat, a danger to all they hold dear.

You _are_ dangerous—they're right about that. You've killed, but you're really not a murderer, so you say. You kill people who deserve it. You'd die for strangers on the street, for kitties and puppies and anyone. Everyone. And your own government would string you up, execute you for crimes you never committed or committed for the good of the world.

Why do you fight for them? Why would you sacrifice yourself for them? Life'd be so much simpler, so very much easier, if you just faded away, quit hunting and trying and bleeding for people who will never know and wouldn't care if they did.

You'll spend your life trying, Dean. You'll spend your life trying and then you'll die. You'll go to Alistair, Hell's favored son, Lucifer's dearest companion since w—_Michael_ spurned him. And with Alistair, sweetheart, you'll have so much fun—I know you, Dean—after you break, and the first seal with you… you will still fight for them. Bleed and suffer and weep for them. Rip yourself apart when you fail, mourn for all that is lost when you're too weak, too slow, too stupid.

And you are stupid, you know. You keep trying to change while doing the same exact thing, hoping for a new outcome.

You fail, Dean. In the end, after everything, you fail. That will be your legacy, how you're remembered.

And you _will_ be remembered. I promise. Your parents, your brother, and you—all played a part, have yet to play a part. Pieces of a whole, leading to an outcome so fantastic, so gigantic—it'll be amazing, Dean. So beautiful. The first time you pick up the razor beneath Alistair's proud eye, you become the masterpiece of thousand eons' work. You'll destroy everything.

Don't look so sad, kiddo. You won't mean to. At the time, you won't even know. And you always meant well. Will mean well.

You don't know me yet. Won't know me for years. But we become good friends, you and I. The best of friends. We'll meet in Hell. We'll meet in Hell and then—and then, sweetheart, you'll know what you really are.

Ah, Dean, don't look so horrified. You complete me, and I need you.

You won't remember this conversation, dear one. Sweet, loyal, self-sacrificing Dean. This is a dream that'll fade by the time you throw off your blanket. You won't remember until we meet, both holding Alistair's blade, both releasing our brother—our King.

So tell me, Dean. Tell me. Now that we've talked awhile—why do you fight, for them or yourself or your darling little Sammy? Even he will leave you. Your father will leave you. Your mother already has. You'll be alone, beneath Alistair… with me.

Beneath Alistair's loving ministrations, Dean, you'll become me. We'll have so much fun together. And after you get ripped away from me by the little angel who could, leaving me alone in the Pit, we'll be apart long enough for your brother to release mine.

Don't worry, though, Dean. We'll meet up again and you'll know me, but you won't know why.

Angels fall, Dean. Angels fall and they devolve. They change. Zachariah is a blind, arrogant fool, but he'll get his, I promise.

You'll become me, but I'm already you, and I'm waiting, Dean. In Perdition, I'm waiting for you. (And you're ever seeking me.)


	218. answering the call

**Title**: answering the call

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Rating**: PG

**Pairings**: none stated

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 135

**Prompt**: Any, Angels don't need to yell.

* * *

Once, wherever he was in the cosmos, Castiel could hear his brothers and sisters. They were connected by Heavenly Grace, mind-to-mind and spirit-to-spirit, all God's children and soldiers and power.

Merely thinking an angel's name brought him to their presence, wherever in the cosmos they might be.

But now Castiel is out-of-reach. He cannot hear Heaven's song or his brothers and sisters voices. They could be screaming for help or cursing his name, and he would not know. Does not want to know.

Dean and Sam do not yell for him anymore. Instead, they call him on the telephone, a small contraption of electricity and plastic they taught him to use.

Wherever he is in the cosmos, Castiel hears that phone ring. Only the Winchesters have the number, and he will always answer their call.


	219. Someone Else

**Title**: Someone Else

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 350

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, Claire, Jesse; they don't remember much before the kind old man took them by the hands and brought them to their fathers; Claire remembers too bright light and ice, Jesse remembers pitch black darkness and fire.

* * *

She's taken to wandering at night, away from the house of sigils and wards and charms. She knows it isn't safe, that demons want her and men could hurt her and angels might turn a blind eye to the traitor's vessel's daughter in danger.

None of that matters, though, because Castiel filled her to the brim and in those moments, she _knew_ things. So many things. Secrets of time and space and Creation's beginning.

In those moments, seeing her father through an angel's eyes, she saw her Father and knew something even Castiel could not yet fathom.

And so she walks at night, knowing that demons want her and men might hurt her and that angels would probably not shift a wing to save her, but there is Someone Else out there, waiting. And so she waits, in turn.

o0o

The waves are awesome and the sand is warm and there are no demons here. Not yet, anyway. He knows they'll come eventually. Something like him can't hide for long, and he should go back, should fight to protect what's important, Mom and Dad and Saturday morning cartoons and the Roberts' yappy dog because those men, those Winchesters and their confused friend, they look at the big picture, and someone should look out for the little guy. For the other Jesses who aren't as powerful.

For now, though, he surfs and swims with dolphins and whales and sharks, far out from the coast, where only him and the sky and sea are, in a place safe because he wills it.

The demons will find him, and the angels want to kill him, and humans don't know who he is or what he can do, but he's felt Someone Else watching him, Someone even stronger than him, and he dives under the surface, waiting.

o0o

And when Someone Else makes His/Her/Creator's move, Claire awakens in a blue room, tinged with ice, and Jesse breathes in fire and thunder, and Someone Else, Painter of the stars and Weaver of the cosmos, says, "Welcome, children. We have so much work to do."


	220. star light, star bright

**Title**: star light, star bright (star I create this night)

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: Ruby/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 210

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam/Ruby, corruption

* * *

She hasn't been poisoning him. He'll think that, of course: Dean's conditioning. Dean the guard-dog, Alistair's toy, the Betrayer's Vessel. Michael's Sword.

He'll always be first for Sam, and she understands that. She had a sister, once, beautiful and funny and kind. Men courted her with poetry and flowers, wanted to be her husband purely because of her physical beauty. And when one of the suitors got too fresh and tainted her sister's honor, she exacted vengeance with words and blood and pain.

She understands Sam's feelings and intentions. His brother is everything to him. And that's why he falls into her web so perfectly.

She isn't poisoning him with her blood; she's gifting him. He doesn't need her, not like Azazel, back at the beginning. (Though, sometimes, seeing the potential in his soul, she wonders if even Azazel actually changed anything in him. He's meant for Lucifer, after all. Not even Azazel could fully craft that.)

"Drink," she whispers, wrist to his mouth. "Drink, sweet boy. Take what you need."

His hand can shadow this body's head. He towers above her. Even when he's not trying, he can be so very intimidating.

He is the perfect vessel for the Star of Morning, and he will be beautiful with Lucifer's wings.


	221. just a game of telephone

**Title**: just a game of telephone (but I'll tell you the truth, and I'll tell you true)

**Disclaimer**: if you recognize them, they're not mine

**Warnings**: distant future!fic

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 725

**Point** **of** **view**: first

**Prompt**: hallowed

* * *

Hey, kid, what're you doin'? No, no, come away from there. We don't go there—it's haunted. Hallowed. Why, no one's set foot there since… hmm. My grandpa's day, at least. Even then, it was rundown, old. No, don't go there.

C'mon in. I just baked some cookies, got a full jug of milk. If you need proof for your friends, I got some old collectibles I'll loan you.

Don't worry—all'a 'em took somethin' of mine to prove they went. It's part of the tradition; you new here? Thought so. All the kids born and raised 'round here know from the cradle to not go past the fence. I'll have a stern talkin'-to with those'ns. They should be more careful with newcomers. Y'all're all so fragile.

Don't be ashamed, boyo. Come now, show me a smile. I'll tell you why we don't go there, and you make sure any siblings ya got know the story too, yeah?

Well, it goes something like this:

In the days before the War, the days of ipods and computers, two brothers opened a door they shouldn't've and unleashed an evil so great it started to eat the world. When the brothers, Dan and Saul, realized what they'd done, they tried to fix it. Saul had one of the Winged Messengers as an ally and had escaped from the Torment, and Dan was gifted with abilities the likes of which none of us folk have anymore. He could read secret thoughts and call down lighting and a dozen other things.

Other people tried to help the brothers, but all died because Dan and Saul were chosen, y'see. That's why they could open the door in the first place: their blood was the key. And the evil wanted Dan. It chased him while he and his brother chased it, and 'round and 'round they went. All the time they fought, the evil burned the world, until finally Dan said, "Enough, monster. We'll fight face to face."

And they did, right up there in that house. For days they tangled. At the end of the battle, Dan and the evil were both gone, and most of the block with 'em. Saul, barely alive, crawled for miles 'til someone helped him. His ally, the last of the Winged Messengers, died to save him during Dan's battle, so Saul's the only one to ever know what really happened in that house.

Anyway, after Saul healed up, he came back and rebuilt the house, and there he lived alone for a long time. But eventually, people started moving in and set up Town, and the one day, a man showed up at Saul's house, claiming to be his son.

Saul looked him right in the eye and said, "That you are."

When Saul died, decades after Dan, his son Blake stayed in the house. He had kids of his own, but his sweetheart never set foot in the house. His kids moved away after he himself died, all but one, a daughter who built another house at the foot of the hill, this one, kiddo, and lived there.

Something haunts that house, you see. It is hallowed ground, and only blood-kin of those brothers can set foot there. Everyone else—yes, even loved ones—suffers and bleeds and dies. That's why Blake's girl never went there. No one can tear that house down because no one can get close enough.

They say a door is locked up there. Maybe Dan didn't destroy the evil, just hid it away again. Maybe Dan and Saul are guarding the door they once opened.

Alls I can tell you is this: stay away from that fence. The house has killed people before, and so long as no one goes near, it won't kill again.

Now, take this jar and tell those kids you heard a scream. It's tradition.

Well, if you want to come back, a'course you're welcome. I like visitin'. Yeah, I know lots of stories about Dan and Saul. They had hundreds of adventures. Come back tomorrow, if you want, and I'll tell you about the time they fought the Demon King with only a single knife. Well, it was a special knife, you see, and—

Tomorrow, kiddo. Bring the kids who dared you. I'll make more cookies.

Tomorrow. I'll be here. I'll always be here.


	222. Heaven's last best gift

**Title**: Heaven's last best gift

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: mentions of canon het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 685

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: caffienekitty, for her birthday

* * *

On a dark and stormy night not too long after he buried what was left of Karen, a young woman showed up at Bobby Singer's door. In later years, he could never remember what she looked like, which he blamed on all the alcohol swimming around in his system.

"Well, c'mon in 'fore you catch your death," he slurred, and his drunken mind didn't notice that no rain touched her, though the summer storm continued to rage.

"Thank you," she said, following him into the house. "You must know that you will see your love again before you leave this life, and that you will meet the sons she had no chance to bear you."

Bobby took another swig of his beer, since it was all a delusion anyway. "Who're you?" he asked.

She smiled. "You may call me Hope, if it pleases you. I have something to place in your care, Robert. It is vital. Are you trustworthy?"

He laughed, bitterly and hoarsely, and said, "I killed my life last week. Wife." He considered that a moment, while Hope stood silent. "Same thing, anyhow."

"Yes," Hope said quietly, and Bobby felt something calming him, gentle and soothing, and he thought of Karen humming in the kitchen. "You are a warrior, Robert. A survivor. You will keep it safe, and know when the time is right to bestow it."

From around her neck, Hope pulled a leather cord, and a small yellow amulet glowed on it. "This is very old, Robert," Hope told him, and held it out. "One of my sons crafted it from angel blood and demon tears, and the Creator's sorrow." She looked at him solemnly, and his mental haze lessened.

"Who are you?" he asked again. She didn't look old enough to have a craftsman for a son, and those ingredients…

"A brother's love was also poured into this," she said. "And a son's regret, a son's pride. Keep it safe, Robert." She placed the necklace on his hall table and it stopped glowing. He blinked at the amulet; when he lifted his gaze to look at Hope again, she'd vanished.

Bobby shrugged—it was, after all, just a drunken delusion. So he went to bed.

When he woke in the morning, he had a truly horrendous hangover and no desire to drink anymore. Instead, he began researching what happened to Karen, determined to save others from her fate.

Years later, when John Winchester showed up with two rugrats and a crusade not unlike Bobby's, Bobby gave him advice and information, and then he found a small yellow amulet on a leather cord. He didn't remember ever seeing it before, and figured it must have come from Karen's stuff.

One day, Sam Winchester called Bobby and asked if he had something cool that Sam could give his father for Christmas. For some reason, Bobby immediately thought of that yellow amulet. He didn't think it was anything special, but it sure looked impressive.

So he gave it to Sam. And it wasn't until Castiel requested Dean relinquish his amulet that Bobby remembered the woman who gave it to him half a decade before Dean's birth.

But he still didn't understand. He didn't understand when Dean handed over his necklace, a gift from his little brother, what should have been a useless charm, a harmless knick-knack, but was actually so much more…

He didn't understand when Death sent him a message through the long-dead love of his life, or when Lucifer himself knocked on the door and reached through all Bobby's protections to vaporize him.

"You did well, Robert," a young woman with a gentle smile told him. "I thank you." She kissed him on the cheek and said, "Karen is waiting for you. Fear not—I'll watch over your boys."

"Hope," he whispered. "I don't—"

"I know." She patted his hand. "Let go, my son. Be at peace."

_Dean and Sam_, he thought. _I'm sorry, boys. I wasn't strong enough_.

He closed his eyes and imagined Karen's laughter, the way she murmured his name, how she taught him to bake her favorite cookies, and—


	223. defense mechanisms

**Title**: defense mechanisms

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point** **of** **view**: first

**Prompt**: Dean, the whole series was a hallucination he had after Sam died and he went off the deep end.

* * *

A part of him, deep down inside, knows. That's what Dr. Malloy thinks anyway, and don't tell her I said this, but I think she's as crazy as he is. That boy, poor dear, don't have a clue about any'a this, he's locked so far inside himself.

Sometimes, he does almost seem lucid, I guess. For a moment his face clears and I say, "Hey, Dean," but then he goes back into his mind, and I don't begrudge him that. What's waitin' for him if he comes out... lord, that'd frighten the hardest men I ever knew, and this boy...

Well. It's not his fault, is it? His mama killed when he was only a boy, and they're pretty sure his daddy done it, you know. Not that they could ever prove it. And then his brother, just a baby himself! Barely twenty, I think. Killed in a fire, too.

Yeah, I don't blame Dean Winchester for what he did. He only killed bad people, you know. People who deserved it. Thought they were monsters, and aren't they?

Ah, duty calls. Gotta go give that boy his medicine, if he'll take it.


	224. trickster's tales

**Title**: trickster's tales

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam & Dean & Castiel, Running into a real trickster for once.

* * *

They're pretty boys, and powerful, threaded together with sacrifice and lead and blood and fire. Feathers, too, etched into their skin, and sigils etched into bone. Two of them are his, American to the core, dust from the middle of his continent. The other smells like sky and starlight. Fading, though. More dust by the day.

Not really a boy, that one. Older than him, though not by much. Only a few millennia.

Coyote licks his chops. Not too smart, to mess with these three. The eldest boy is marked by the Eldest, and the younger has _his_ fingerprints deep in his soul. That upstart who, though older, really wasn't as funny as he thought. Too much judgment, not enough jokes. Takes more to trick than power. Angels really don't have the sense of humor they think they do.

No matter. Here they are, tired and worn out. They need a breather, and who better than the King of Tricksters?

(No matter what Loki and Anansi say, he _is_ the king. Ask anyone. But them.)


	225. if you live long enough

**Title**: if you live long enough you will die knowing

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Gerald Stern.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to 5.15

**Pairings**: mentions of canon het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 185

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He doesn't want to be their father. Sometimes, he wishes he had slammed the door harder, made sure they'd never come back. Refused to help when John got himself snatched and possessed.

And now, look what's come of it. Life would be simpler, maybe. Or maybe he'd be dead. John and Dean would still have died, and Sam might be Azazel's general, Lucifer's consenting vessel.

Karen is dead again. She was brought back and killed because of the Winchesters. He wishes for a moment that he could turn them away. Tell them to leave and not come back. He lost his legs because of them. He lost his legs and had to suffer the pain of Karen's death again. Twice he's had to kill her.

The phone rings. He knows who it is. Those stupid and brave boys, and he wishes for one moment he was strong enough, mean enough, to turn them away.

The phone rings and he picks it up, puts it to his ear, and asks, "What's gone wrong now?"

Family don't end with blood, and the Winchesters need all the help they can get.


	226. waiting in the wings

**Title**: waiting in the wings

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 205

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Team Free Will, "Don't give up. You have more friends than enemies."

* * *

"Hello, Jesse," she says, long blonde hair blowing in the salty breeze. "I think we have a couple friends in common."

She looks nice. Sounds nice. But appearances are deceiving, and no one knows who he is, anymore.

"My name's Layla," she continues. "And I just wanted to let you know about another friend, someone who helps us all, gets us ready for what's coming." She holds out a small piece of paper. "If you ever wanna help us help the Winchesters, go here."

If she's dangerous, he can stop her, so he takes the note. _Missouri Mosley_ and an address are printed in big block letters, no-nonsense handwriting, and he can feel, through the paper, her good intentions.

"How did you die?" Jesse asks, looking up at her.

"Brain tumor," she replies.

He nods. "I might come," he tells her. "If… maybe…"

She smiles and reaches out; he lets her touch his cheek. "You have nothing to make up for, Jesse." Her voice is soft and kind, and he knows he's not good enough, but it sure is nice to hear. He closes his eyes as she leans down to kiss his forehead, and when he opens them, she's gone.

He tucks the note away.


	227. Remembrance only can remain

**Title**: Remembrance only can remain

**Disclaimer**: Dean's not mine. More's the pity. Title from Lord Byron.

**Warnings**: pre-series outside pov; spoilers for season 2

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 275

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: absorb

* * *

Rob watches the kid. He's listening but not taking notes, and he won't do the homework, and he'll leave most of the test blank. But he's listening and there's comprehension on his face, which is so frustrating.

"Winchester," Rob calls as the bell rings. "Wait a second."

The kid slouches next to Rob's desk, shifting impatiently. Class before lunch always drags, Rob understands that. He grabs a worksheet from the bottom drawer and holds it out to Winchester. "Give this back to me whenever you can," he says. "No deadline."

Winchester takes the paper with a raised eyebrow, but replies, "Okay, Mr. Paulson. Can I go now?"

Rob nods and the kid rushes out.

He doesn't expect to see the worksheet again, but he had to try. If Mrs. Wilcox hadn't reached out to him junior year, he'd probably be dead or in jail by now, and listening to the other teachers, he knows they've just about given up on Winchester.

A week later, after five undone homework assignments and a test with one problem solved, the worksheet appears on his desk, every answer right. Winchester doesn't show his work, which could be taken as cheating, but Rob knows better. The coursework is too easy and Winchester's bored.

It ends up not mattering because the kid is expelled for fighting the next day. And years after that, when Rob sees the news about a bank robbery downtown and that face staring at the camera in fear—he can't help but blame himself a little. He should have tried sooner. When Dean Winchester was still in his class, the boy could have been saved, but it's too late now.


	228. I miss most, even now, his hands

**Title**: I miss most, even now, his hands

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy

**Warnings**: spoilers for 5.20

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica, Sam/(not)Brady

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 230

**Point of view**: third

* * *

The body is so _small_. Barely able to contain him. Puny and weak—how can any demon want a sack of flesh surrounding the power granted from the Boss' own hand?

But he has a task, given by Azazel, from the Boss himself. An important task. He has to get the whole thing started.

As the months pass, as Brady nearly ruins himself, and cries in Sam's arms, and gives Sam everything he has, and finally pushes Sam to sweet, delectable Jess—he falls a little in love with Sam. He sees the potential in Sam, the power, the anger, the will. Sometimes, watching Sam and Jess dance or laugh or kiss, he can barely wait to rip Jessica from him in fire and blood. He had Sam first. He'll have pieces of Sam forever.

Tonight's the night. Sam will be home soon, and Jessica's made cookies, and she invites Brady in when he knocks because this discussion's been a long time coming. He knows she's seen his eyes on Sam—always Sam, beautiful Sam, Sam who tried so very hard to save him.

_don't don't_, Brady begs, _don't don't_

Jessica offers him an oven-warm cookie because she's a good girl. He takes a bite and murmurs, "Delicious."

(When Sam thrusts the knife into Brady's long-dead body, he feels those strong hands, and the potential swells out, and he thinks, _yes_.)


	229. chasin' after sunbeams

**Title**: chasin' after sunbeams

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic AU; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 815

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: periwinkle

* * *

She had always dreamed of marrying in a periwinkle blue gown on a warm summer day, with her hair swept up and Daddy walking her down the aisle to give her away.

But Daddy died when she was a little girl. And she never goes to her own wedding because she doesn't marry. She dies in agony, trying to save the world so other little girls can marry Prince Charming.

And one day, a long time after she dies in sacrifice, a man she once knew walks his niece down the aisle. Her dress is soft blue and the blonde hair her grandmother gave her glistens gold in sunlight.

She kisses her uncle on the cheek, gently wiping away his tears; he whispers, "I love you, sweetheart."

Her Prince Charming is waiting, so she lets go of her uncle's hand and goes to him.

She doesn't know about the girl who dreamed of marrying in periwinkle blue. She doesn't know about sacrifice or world-ending pain or blood turning streets to crimson rivers. No one does anymore, because of power and hope and love.

So she kisses her husband and smiles at the uncle who raised her and can't remember the life where she died for the world.

Her uncle can't stop crying. _You should see her, Sammy_, he thinks. _You should be here_. He rubs at his eyes. _I see so much of you in her_.

_Don't worry, Dean_, he hears, so faded it must be a dream. _We'll meet again. You and me, big brother. You and me, forever._

Three years later, Uncle Dean dies the same day Sam's daughter conceives twin sons. She names them for her long-dead father and beloved uncle, and life goes on.

On the wall is a picture of a new bride and the man who taught her to ride a bike and throw a curve ball and fire a gun. Soon enough, new pictures are placed beside it, of two boys who grow tall and strong and brave. No one knows what went into their creation, of the past of this family, of what they became and what they sacrificed.

Dean, the elder twin by four minutes, grows up to be a police officer. He eventually becomes an FBI agent.

Sam, younger and taller, thinks about law school for a few years, but he finally joins the FBI as a profiler.

Their mother married in a periwinkle gown on a summer day. They don't know what once was, or the angels that watch over them, or the demons that salivate on the edge of the wards, ever waiting. They don't know so much, and their dreams are easy because everything is locked away.

When the locks shatter, Dean is dead, caught in a shoot-out. Sam holds his still-warm body.

They've always been each other's weakness.

Sam doesn't say _yes_ because the expiration date on that offer passed a lifetime ago. He doesn't need to, anymore. He's not the Sam Winchester who fought Lucifer and drank demon blood and died to save the world, hitting a massive reset button. And his brother, dead in his arms, is not the Dean Winchester who made a deal and became Alistair's favorite, who let _the_ archangel ride him to keep Sam safe long enough for a successful last-ditch-effort to pan out. They're Dean and Sam Colt, and Dean is dead.

But Sam is Sam Winchester's grandson in blood and Sam Winchester in soul, so when he screams, existence screams with him. And the apocalypse that he stopped last time is child's play compared to the one his grief unleashes this time.

And Dean whispers to him, quiet enough to be a dream, _Dude, what the fuck are you doin'?_

Sam says, "Dean?"

_C'mon_, his brother asks. _I'm tired, Sammy. Let's rest now_.

And Sam, physically unhurt, collapses over his brother's corpse; quick as it came, the end of the world goes, leaving a bright sky to grin down at their bodies.

Dean's little girl, barely three when he dies, has only daughters. Sam's son, yet unborn, has a boy. He isn't named for his father or uncle or the great-grandfather he never knows existed.

Angels still watch over the family, always and forever, and demons still wait, but what they wait for never comes.

(Sometimes, when he's lonely and missing the men he knew, Castiel searches Heaven for their souls. He doesn't find them. He scours Hell, once, but they are not there, either. Lucifer invites him to stay and visit awhile, but Castiel flees in sorrow.

Dean and Winchester are completely gone, and Castiel longs to hear a pointless joke he doesn't understand and a detailed explanation or scoffing laugh.

One of Dean's granddaughter's marries in periwinkle blue on a bright summer day. Castiel is there, a silent guardian, and then he goes to the far side of the sky. )


	230. Others come and others go

**Title**: Others come and others go, but you always come back

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Pink

**Warnings**: future!fic; spoilers for aired season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 350

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He follows the North Star. He can't remember what he's looking for, only knows it's gotta be underneath the North Star.

He doesn't see any people. Well, any _alive_ people. He sees lots of dead ones. Scavengers make short work of most of the bodies, but some they don't touch. He's not sure of the reason and doesn't investigate why. He just keeps his distance, following the North Star, the only light left in the night sky.

_If I should die before I wake_, he thinks sometimes, _I pray Dean my soul to take_.

He has no idea who Dean is. Maybe Dean's waiting at the North Star. Maybe Dean knows who _he_ is, why the world's like this. He's really pretty sure it wasn't always.

_If I should die before I wake_, he screams sometimes, _I pray Dean my soul to take!_

Whatever a soul is. Maybe it's like a star, like the sun that glares down, revealing all the desolation. Maybe like his beacon, his guide, leading him to Dean.

One morning, when he's close enough to see the Atlantic—_Atlantic, Atlantis, sank beneath the waves, __how do I know you?—_a man steps out of the air.

"Well, hello pretty," the man murmurs, looking him over. "And who might you be?"

The ocean before him, a dead landscape behind him, a stranger with hungry eyes at his side—he panics. So much he doesn't know, everything he can't remember, a North Star he's followed for such a long time; he begs, _Dean, Dean, Dean_—

Stars explode and he whimpers, falling to his knees. The man shrieks, curses, vanishes back into the air.

He remembers why he follows the North Star, and he knows who he'll find when he gets there.

_Clever of you, brother_, he calls, voice echoing over the empty Earth.

_I'm waiting_, Lucifer calls back, laughter and promise filling the sky between them.

There is no North Star anymore, just a Star of Morning waiting to end things. And there is no Dean to save his soul, just a vessel full of Michael's fallen grace.


	231. untitled 7

**Title**: untitled

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 195

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Michael&(/)Lucifer, working out their differences.

* * *

Lucifer paces around the edges of the cage while Sam rests deep within. Michael stands in the center, turning to keep his eyes on his brother, arms crossed and expression either annoyed or angry, Lucifer's not sure. Probably both.

Michael doesn't speak. Lucifer keeps silent.

Time passes and finally Sam unfurls from his sleep, taking control with ease.

"He wasn't lying, you know," Sam says, stretching.

Michael doesn't respond. Adam's burning out like the poor bastard Lucifer wore before Sam, and Sam walks over to him, looks him in the eye. "Can you let Adam go?" Sam asks softly.

Michael flicks him a glance. "Adam is in Heaven," he says.

Sam sighs in relief. "Good," he says. "That's good."

Turning away, he recedes again. Maintaining control is hard, with Lucifer filling every part of him.

Lucifer gazes at his brother, looking past the shell. So long without seeing Michael, away from the wonders and glories of Heaven, and just being near Michael's grace...

"You would have won," Michael says suddenly. "I should have stood with you, and you would have won when I didn't."

Lucifer smiles, and deep inside, Sam shifts, missing his brother.


	232. Father's will

**Title**: Father's will

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place during season 5; AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 105

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: laser

* * *

He falls with the precision of a laser-guided missile, focused on his little brother, the traitor, the proud once-angel he already killed before.

The Winchesters are shielded, protected by sigils no one save God can break, but Castiel did not ward himself, and he is always with the Vessels. To find them, all anyone must do is find Castiel.

Zachariah is dead, Lucifer marshalling his forces, and Michael waiting for his true Vessel to consent. So Raphael will take Dean by force and kill anyone in the way. If that includes Sam and Castiel, then for the good of the world, so be it.


	233. a place where thou and death

**Title**: the place where thou and death shall dwell at ease

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton

**Warnings**: spoilers for 5.21

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 295

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

"Sit down," he says. "Share pizza with me."

Jehovah does, holding out a plate for the slice Death cuts him. "Lying is a sin," Jehovah states, settling the plate, picking up a fork and knife.

"I am beyond sin," Death says. "As are you."

Jehovah nods, taking a small piece of pizza. "This is quite good."

Death smiles. "Your plan befuddles me, dear. But your knight—he is quite the interesting boy. I could smell his fear, and yet he still dared to meet my gaze, still dared lie to my face."

Jehovah grins, picking up the pizza with his hands and taking a big bite. "He has a good heart, that boy," Jehovah says after swallowing. "And the plan will make sense in the end, you'll see."

Death cuts him another slice. "If you had taken your brat in hand the first time he threw a tantrum, none of this would be necessary now."

Jehovah shakes his head. "No, my dear," he corrects gently. "This has been the end from the moment we grew aware." He changes the pizza to a chocolate dessert. "Hmm, delicious." Offering some to Death, he continues, "With nothing to kill, you are not Death. You know this."

Death takes a small bite of the cake. "And you, you are very clever." He meets Jehovah's eyes. "I will reap you, at the end of all things."

Jehovah smiles again. "And that is not for a long time yet."

Silently they sit and eat until Death says, "It has been ages since someone played a good game of poker with me, Jehovah."

Jehovah chuckles, clearing the table. "And what will the stakes be this time?"

"Worlds, of course. And a soul or two, here and there," Death says, dealing the cards.


	234. illachrymable

**Title**: illachrymable

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired; future!fic AU

**Pairings**: implied one-sided non-incestuous het

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 580

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: the title means _something you are unable to cry over_. Make of that what you will.

* * *

There is a book she reads sometimes, to remember. It isn't the only of its kind, but it was the first, all those years ago, when a prophet dreamt of two brothers. It spawned a whole series, spin-offs, a television show, and three blockbuster movies.

They are a franchise now, like the superheroes. Bigger than Batman, and wouldn't Dean like that?

No, she thinks. He'd rather everything be left hidden, ignored. He'd rather no one know his name than everyone think it's just a story.

The movies end differently, of course. The books kept on after their story came to its conclusion. Some people thought they went on too long, way past when they should have stopped. But she knows that fiction is different from fact, and no one would have been happy with the actual finish.

She sure wasn't. And she wished it could have gone differently. She still wishes that, when she starts at the beginning and reads _Woman in White_ to the final page, when Dean stands beside his brother outside a burnt apartment and Sam says brokenly, "We got work to do."

It's not the same. She's one of the few left who knows they were real, those Winchester boys. She's one of the few left who ever met them, who survived the encounter, who remembers what's real and what's myth.

Kids dress up like Dean and Sam Winchester for Halloween. Pre-teens swoon over their actors, and there's a booming line of action figures, and she can hear his voice in her head, Sam marveling at what all has happened in the decades since.

She knew them. She nearly killed Dean, and she was there when he looked Death in the face and made a promise he never intended to keep.

She reads the book sometimes, the one where the Winchester patriarch traded himself for Dean, her first appearance in their story. It's different written down; Dean came so much closer than the prophet let on with his words. But she could never have taken him. Only her father had the strength to reap Dean's soul for good.

She was there when Death did, when he held out his hands to the Winchester brothers. She watched as the brothers exchanged glances, a whole world of conversations in a heartbeat, and she closed her eyes while Dean smiled and Sam nodded, and she didn't follow as her father led them home.

She didn't follow. She can't follow. Death ordered her to stay, and she does, reaping those who need reaping, until only a handful of people remember the actual men anymore.

And this woman in front of her is the last. One hundred and five years since Rosie met the Winchesters, since Dean carried her out of a burning building, and she looks the reaper once called Tessa right in the eyes.

"He didn't feel the same," Rosie tells her with a sad smile, and she can see the baby girl Dean saved. "He never would've."

"I know," she says, placing a hand on Rosie's forehead. "Go home now."

After Rosie passes on, she looks around the room, at the shelves lined with books, outdated movies, DVDs that don't work anymore. She walks to the first book of the series, the one that began it all, and she lets her fingers trace over the cover illustration, the drawing that looks nothing like the men she knew.

_Come home, daughter_, Death says, and she wonders if they'll be waiting.


	235. polish up the stars

**Title**: polish up the stars

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: future!fic AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 195

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: regret

* * *

Looking back, years and years (eons, millennia, an epoch and a half) after, Castiel knew where the true fault lay. Of everyone involved, only one person could have stopped it, fixed it, kept it from ever happening.

And that being refused to step in and act, and for that, even long after existence is dust and everything forgotten, Castiel cannot forgive himself.

o0o

If he had understood sooner, if the archangels had seen clearer, if the amulet had worked better, if Joshua had been truthful and not a liar—

If, if, if. If nothing. What's done is done and what's burnt is burnt, and he's alone now. Alone with memories and stardust and so much longing, and even more regret.

o0o

It would be a Thursday, were there still days. It would be a rainy Thursday, and the Winchesters would be driving somewhere, and Castiel is all that's left of the creator, and he decides to recreate what his mistakes destroyed, and so he weaves again the cosmos, and it is a Thursday and Dean sings along to Black Sabbath while Sam complains.

But this time, Castiel swears, he will do it right, and there will be no end.


	236. it's all gone sour

**Title**: it's all gone sour

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from _Jesus Christ, Superstar_

**Warnings**: future!fic; AU

**Pairings**: Chuck/Becky

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 435

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: bendy

* * *

After everything is done, Chuck goes to Indiana and waits by the shell of a house. It's not long before a kid shows up.

"Hey, Ben," Chuck says, standing. "I have a message for you."

Ben stays out of reach, one hand inside his jacket. Chuck knows he's got a knife clenched in trembling fingers. Chuck also knows he's used that knife and vomited after, that he whispered to his mom _forgive me for fighting._

"Who're you?" Ben asks, eyes darting around for any threat.

"I knew your dad," Chuck tells him, keeping still as possible. "He was a good man. He wants you to know that if you ever call on him for help, he will."

Ben scoffs. "Yeah, right. Where was he when Mom died, huh? When those-those _things_ tore her apart?" He seems really close to crying and Chuck hopes he won't. He doesn't know what to do when people cry.

"He wished he could have been," Chuck says. "He had to look at the bigger picture, though. He loved her."

Shaking his head, Ben backs away. "What the fuck ever, dude. I'm going now. Don't follow me, and don't be here when I get back."

Chuck watches him leave, knowing exactly where the kid's headed. He's got a base, what used to be a cellar. He's got a stockpile of food, water, and weapons. He's got a little group, half a dozen orphans. Ben's their leader and they've survived so long only because of him.

"Ben!" Chuck calls. After Ben pauses, Chuck says, "Your father is Dean Winchester. If you're ever trouble, just yell for him or Sam."

Chuck's not surprised when Ben takes off at that, vanishing into the rubble.

"Well now," Crowley muses, stepping out of thin air. Chuck's really tired of people doing that. "You know that boy will never call on the Winchesters."

"Take me home," Chuck demands wearily.

"And what would answer if he did…" Crowley continues, shuddering theatrically. "Chuck, it's downright demonic, what you just did."

"Please," Chuck says. "Our deal."

"Yes, yes." Crowley touches Chuck's forehead, sending him to Becky.

Chuck knows that Dean would kill him, if he ever had an inkling of Chuck's actions. But Dean said _yes_, and Lucifer's silver tongue got Sam, and Ben is a loose end that someone besides Crowley will remember soon.

So Chuck traded the boy for his safety, and Becky's. And whatever Crowley does with Ben, it's not his concern. He's gotta think about himself now. Him and Becky.

She greets him with a kiss. He holds her tight, trying to forget Dean's son.


	237. sense of humor

**Title**: sense of humor

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 155

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Gabriel & Chuck, author's choice

* * *

"I always knew you had a sense of humor, Pa," he says, peering over Chuck's shoulder. "Just look at the platypus. That's a big honkin' clue."

Chuck sighs, long-sufferingly, and pushes back from the desk. "I'm glad to see your brother didn't do any permanent damage, Gabriel," Chuck says.

Gabriel chuckles, offering Chuck a Hershey bar. "So what's the plan, Dad? Luci's back in his cage, but Mikey and Sammy are with him, too. And Dean…" Gabriel laughs aloud. "He's some pissed at you, bucko."

Smiling, Chuck takes the chocolate. "You are refreshing," he says, breaking a piece off. "No one has ever spoken to me like you do." He pauses, considering that. "Well, besides the Winchesters, of course."

Gabriel nods, smirking. "Those two do have a way with words." When Chuck doesn't say anything else, Gabriel asks, "So, the plan?"

Chuck simply smiles, breaking off another piece. Gabriel rolls his eyes and waits.


	238. parasite

**Title**: parasite

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: disturbing; dark; takes place during "Fresh Blood"

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: SPN, any, taste

* * *

It's better than chocolate or whiskey or anything else he's ever had. It's sticky and sweet and warm, life sluicing down his throat, thick and vibrant. Every sense is on overdrive, but taste… he almost climaxes at the first sip, and then the rest—he licks his lips to get the last drops, brushes his fingers along his cheeks and jaw, runs his tongue on every centimeter of skin he can.

It's better than sex. And the only thing that will top the taste of blood, he knows, is killing Sammy Winchester.

(And when he sinks his fangs into Dean's throat, when he sucks down Dean's blood… dying right after is completely worth it.)


	239. I know your face

**Title**: I know your face

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: het and slash

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 245

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Jimmy(Castiel's vessel)/Nick(Lucifer's first vessel), they've met before

* * *

Mrs. Thompson's fifth grade homeroom. Nick was the class clown, always making jokes and getting everyone completely off-topic. Jimmy was the suckup with the right answers, who helped Mrs. Thompson take roll and grade papers.

Then again, ninth grade, sixth period PE. Nick excelled at always _always_ hitting Jimmy in dodgeball. It evened out, though, because Jimmy always _always_ caught what should have been Nick's homeruns during baseball.

Junior year, Nick left prom with Jimmy's date. Jimmy escorted Nick's ex-girlfriend home. Both of them got lucky that night.

And then senior year… well. After Jimmy found religion, he tried not to think about the second semester of senior year, when he almost ruined his GPA. (He doesn't like to admit it, especially when he's being ridden by an angel, but Nick still was the best kisser he'd ever swapped spit with.)

They went to college on opposite ends of the country. Both got married and had kids. Neither of those things ended well.

So, yeah. Locked in a ring of holy angel-trapping fire, staring at Lucifer… he knows that face. Jimmy is dead, ripped apart by an archangel, but Castiel still has this vessel's memories, and Jimmy _knows_ the face of Lucifer's vessel.

But Lucifer doesn't acknowledge their vessels' connections, and Castiel has far more important things to worry about than that Nick used to take Jimmy on joyrides in his dad's camero when they should have been sketching still lifes in art class.


	240. to everything a season

**Title**: to everything a season

**Disclaimer**: not my character

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 110

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Chuck!God + any(/any), visiting his favorite moments in creation, striking up conversations

* * *

So, Nero? Plays a mean-ass fiddle. Don't tell anyone, though. It's kind of a bad moment in the history of civilization. Such as it was, then, anyway.

Where were we?

Also, the Argentinosaurus? Dude, even for the creator of everything ever, that thing was fucking huge. Awesome.

And Mardi Gras! Who could forget Mardi Gras? Man, there's just too many moments to choose from.

Okay, fine. The first time a lion roared, the first time it rained, the first time wind whispered through the trees, the first time a whale did a body slam out of the waves...

This world is yours, child. Time is your playground. Find your own moments.


	241. from the beginning to the end

**Title**: from the beginning to the end

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 195

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Michael/Lucifer, I've killed a million petty souls but I couldn't kill you.

* * *

They will battle across creation, from one side of the sky to the other, from the beginning to the end and beyond. But not to the death.

Never to the death.

Because Michael and Lucifer can erase continents from existence, can call down the mountains and summon the seas, can destroy worlds. But not each other.

Never each other.

They could, and they both know it. To kill one is to kill the other, and that might end this entire war. Heaven will succeed without Lucifer on the other side, most powerful of all angels save his elder brother, the first and the best, God's Bright Sword, Father's Thundering Fist. The demons are not an army without a king to follow, without a leader capable of planning.

It will end with them, as it began with them, and they will battle forever because it will never be to the death.

(Uriel, and Raphael, and Azazel, and Zachariah, and Alistair—none of them understand. Joshua does, though. Once upon a time, when he walked the earth he had a brother named John, and John stood at the foot of his cross, and Joshua loved him so very much.)


	242. not exactly prodigal

**Title**: not exactly prodigal

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5; possible blasphemy

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 175

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer (/any), Finally going back to Heaven

* * *

Before him, the Gate swings open. Angels line the street, swords tilted down, flame barely licking the blade. Sunlight glitters off the golden street, nearly blinding him after so long in a dark, cold cage.

Father waits at the end, a silver circlet on His head and another in His hand. Next to Him on the right is His Beloved Son, that arrogant bastard. A silver circlet glistens on his dark head and a smirk twists his lips. On Father's left is Michael, wings pale and beautiful. His smile is glorious. Almost like he never languished in the dark, wrapped entirely in Lucifer's arms, cocooned in the warm feathers of his wings. The silver circlet barely balances on his thick hair. Lucifer wouldn't be surprised if it slipped off.

"I do not repent," Lucifer announces for all of Heaven to hear. "I did nothing wrong then, or in this recent event."

Michael rolls his eyes. The Son narrows his.

God laughs, loud and long, and says fondly, "Oh, my boy, I have missed you."


	243. the reign of a thousand years

**Title**: the reign of a thousand years

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: parts could be taken as Judeo-Christian blasphemy

**Pairings**: implied Alistair/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 235

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean +/ Alastair, I sat around laughing and watched the last one die

* * *

Dean doesn't really remember much about the soul he was tormenting when Castiel swooped in to save the day a thousand years too late.

(And it was a thousand years. Alistair savored every last moment, and he is Hell's timekeeper. Let Joshua talk about the symbolism of three days all he wants... Alistair knows he had that self-righteous martyr on his rack for five million decades, and he knows because he counted them all.

So, when Alistair says he had Dean for four thousand years, he did. And when Dean tearfully confesses to Sammy that it was four months, he doesn't know he's lying.)

Anyway. Dean doesn't remember much about the last soul. There was screaming and crying and begging and bleeding, but that's simply par for the course. Towards the end there, Dean inspired just as much terror as Alistair, and they were both so proud of that.

But that last soul... if only Castiel had been a few hours later, Dean would've been completely lost. Completely Alistair's. Body and mind and soul, every bit of him. Alistair's to break down and build back up, crazy-glued together _wrong_.

Michael wouldn't have wanted to touch him, then. Both Heaven and Hell would've backed the fuck off and left Dean with Alistair, in his workroom, forever.

But Dean was pulled away, gripped tight and raised from Perdition, and Dean doesn't know that last soul's name.


	244. the star of mourning

**Title**: the star of mourning

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: mentions of canon het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:205

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer/Nick, pity

* * *

Nick is a nice enough fellow. He pays his taxes, loves his wife, adores his daughter, and obeys traffic laws. He has no idea of all the horrible things in store for him.

He can be excused for that, though, since honestly, no one does.

o0o

Nick used to be a nice enough fellow. Now he's bitter and angry and just wants to die, so that he can be with his family again. He would kill himself, except his wife spent hours sobbing in his arms after her father took his own life.

Nick is not Lucifer's first choice, or second, or third. He's not even on the third-string of options. No one important knows his name.

And in all the world, with billions of people to study, Lucifer settles on him for just that reason.

Sam Winchester is the one he really wants. But everyone knows about Sam. Nick is out of left field. Nobody will see Lucifer in Nick.

o0o

_Nicholas_, Lucifer whispers, wrapping his wings around the man's fragile soul. _Sleep, my dear. You are with your wife and daughter, and the sun is warm, and everything is perfect._

Lucifer is not merciless. Nick is damned, but he need not suffer until Lucifer burns him out.


	245. wolfsong

**Title**: wolfsong

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place in Hell; probably AU

**Pairings**: mentions of Sam/Madison

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 250

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Madison, Hellhounds are the souls of dead werewolves

* * *

She is too young yet to be of Lilith's pack, but the others speak of their hunt for Winchester, Michael's Sword, God's Thundering Fist. He puts up a surprisingly weak fight, and Malachi, the eldest of all Lilith's wolves, howls his disappointment for Hell to hear.

She knows that name. She remembers his eyes, his hands. His brother's taste.

His brother. Lilith's enemy. Sam.

Sam. Oh, she remembers Sam. She could have loved him, she knows. In another world. A world where she was never bitten, never killed. Sam was something special.

And now, she listens to the howls that tell of Hell's attempt to woo him, to own him.

She could tell them of his strength. How Hell will never command him.

Dean's screams echo throughout the realm, and Malachi tells all the young ones of his taste. The heat of his blood, the fragility of his flesh and his bones. His brother begged for Lilith to call off the pack, and Malachi laughs at the memory.

But she remembers him. And she remembers Sam. Dean will soon be one of Alistair's favorites, and Sam will come for him. Hell will not break Sam.

She could tell them, but she is still so young. No one will listen.

Sam will rule Hell, she knows. He will defeat Lilith and then he will break Hell beneath his rage and reclaim his shattered brother.

Maybe she will rule the pack then, at his behest. She will gladly follow him.

After all… she remembers.


	246. the line in grayscale

**Title**: the line in grayscale

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place in Hell

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 210

**Point of view**: first

**Prompt**: Dean +/ Alastair, Hate that I can't hate you

* * *

C'mon, kiddo, don't be like that. You know you enjoy it, the blood and the screams. I'm the only one to ever understand you, Dean. You know that. I see the brokenness in you, the monster just waiting to be unleashed.

Oh, the hate in your eyes, Dean. It's beautiful. So tantalizing. You loathe me, and you don't even remember why. I know that, too. Your life Above… nothing but half a faded memory, lost beneath me and Hell, my razor and the rack.

Don't think I don't know you'll kill me, first chance you get. Down here, though, you can't. This is my playground, my workroom. Here I am king, unchallenged and undefeatable. And you, sweetheart, you're my heir. You're my masterpiece.

You'll get out of here, Dean. You'll return to the Above world and you'll see why your whole life has been a chessgame between Heaven and Hell.

You'll still be my heir, my favorite, even after you're the reason for my demise. And you can hate me for the rest of eternity, but it doesn't matter. Because I've twisted you up enough that you can't tell the difference between hate and love.

So hate me, boy. Hate me forever. I hate you, just as much.


	247. the pale rider

**Title**: the pale rider

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 55

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Death(& or /)Famine, Old

* * *

"Will you lead me onward, brother?" he asks, wearing the same form he wore in the beginning, when they and the world were young.

"Yes, dear one," Death answers quietly, clad in cowl and scythe in hand. "I will miss our games."

Famine smiles at him, finally sated, and follows Death down the corridor.


	248. master

**Title**: master

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place in Hell

**Pairing**: Alistair/Dean

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 125

**Point** **of** **view**: first

**Prompt**: Alastair/Dean, that's my boy

* * *

Hey, kiddo, I got someone I think you remember. That's right... he tried to kill your baby brother, Sammy. That name familiar? Well, believe me. This is someone you'll enjoy hurting.

Ooh, nice one. Just a little bit deeper—there you go. Perfect.

Now, up a mite—yeah, right there. Deep and sharp, so gorgeous, pet. I knew you'd be the best.

Don't worry, we have forever, if you like. This one... he's special, you know. He got you before I did, tried to feast. He's gotta pay for that, sweetheart. Your brother did a fine job in killing him, but me and you... ah.

You hear the pleading? That's all you. That's my boy. Come here, Dean. I think you've earned a reward.


	249. monster

**Title**: monster

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Pairings**: none

**Wordcount**:105

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Henriksen, The Winchesters left a trail of bodies that was sickenly easy to follow.

* * *

Once he recognized the signs, their trail was very easy to follow. Just find the worst deaths, the most gruesome and the bloodiest, the twisted and the insane-that's the Winchester signature.

He knew that people were monsters, that some things defy explanation, but still... sometimes, he avoided sleep to avoid the nightmares, and sometimes he knew that his life was the nightmare and he'd never wake up from it.

He swore to catch them, to make them pay, for all those people who died screaming and begging and crying.

(In Hell, beneath Alistair's caress, Dean knew he finally became what Henriksen had hunted.)


	250. better to be feared

**Title**: better to be feared

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: shapeshifter (author's choice), being human

* * *

She wants to be beautiful, like every other woman. She wants to be loved and respected, and when all three of those dreams fail because, like Ma said, she's a _monster ugly_ so _go away, leave me alone, you're not my daughter_

not my daughter

I couldn't've birthed somethin' like you

Well. She's not pretty, and no one likes her, and no one will ever respect her if they can't even look at her.

But she is strong, and she is so very clever, and so she changes. It's hard and it hurts, but she changes, becomes someone else, sheds her skin and is suddenly beautiful.

And if people only like her for her looks, she'll still never be respected.

And if people won't respect her, then, like Ma said, she'll just be a monster and let the world fear her.

Fear's better than love anyway, because fear will never go away.


	251. new ways to scream

**Title**: new ways to scream

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: Alistair's pov; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: implied Alistair/Dean

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 315

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Alistair, hurt is comfort

* * *

When demons die, they don't go to Hell. Hell is for humans and fallen angels, and Alistair had studied, once upon a time. Back at his beginning, just after the Garden, when his mother and father had dozens of children. He was one of a multitude, then. Still is, in fact.

Cain and Abel are the brothers that history remembers. And even Alistair has forgotten his human name.

The point is, demons don't go to Hell when they die.

Alistair looks around the room, lit by fire, and examines the others with him. All of these demons were killed by Winchesters. Azazel is plotting in the corner with Ruby and Lilith, trying to find a way out. Their plan succeeded, after all. Lucifer is walking the world again.

Too bad none of them are there to bask in his glow. Alistair smirks, thinking of his boy. His greatest pupil, his best and brightest, his masterpiece.

Demons don't go to Hell when they die. And neither will Dean. But he won't rest forever in Heaven, either. There are laws, set in place long ago, back when Yahweh fashioned this reality, this planet.

Death will reap Dean one day. And Death will deposit Dean in Alistair's hands, and Alistair will hurt the boy until he remembers nothing beyond Alistair's touch.

Dean gripped Alistair's razor tight and taught souls new ways to scream. He won't go to Heaven when he dies for good. He'll come here, to this cavern somewhen else, created by Yahweh for those that even Hell couldn't contain.

Alistair wonders when Lucifer will show up, but he has patience. Death owes him; owning Dean again will settle that debt.

And then he'll have Dean forever, his perfect pet, his pretty little triumph. Let the others plan and plot. Alistair has his own game, and the only other player he needs or wants will be here soon enough.


	252. reach then, and freely taste

**Title**: reach then, and freely taste

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5; AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Gabriel + Castiel, Gabriel joins Team Free Will and Castiel thanks him

* * *

They will still most likely fail. Their numbers are saddeningly few, with only a crippled old man, a borderline drunk, a recovering demon-blood addict, and an angel whose divine grace fades by the day among them.

Castiel has faith, though. He must. He has turned his belief from God, missing without desire to be found, to the Winchesters. They are a force to be reckoned with. And they are good men. More will come, when they sound the call.

And Gabriel is smirking at him, Hershey bar in hand. Gabriel had been one of the strongest angels, God's Messenger. Gabriel had seen God's face. Gabriel had spoken to God.

"Hey, lil'brother," Gabriel says. "What's shakin'?"

Castiel meets his eyes. "Thank you for coming to aid us."

Gabriel smiles, and it is a gentle smile, tired and worn, warm as a sunlit breeze. "I've become fond of this world, and the life that inhabits it," he says, shrugging. His gaze tracks the brothers as they walk in, and his smile shifts to a smirk.

Yes, Castiel thinks, they will still most likely fail. But they might also succeed, and he has faith.


	253. wakeup call

**Title**: wakeup call

**Disclaimer**: the Winchester brothers aren't mine, nor is their sweet ride

**Warnings**: takes place in season 2

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 340

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean & Sam, the Impala gets carjacked at gunpoint

* * *

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" the driver demands, glaring at Zeke over the barrel of Dan's gun.

"No!" Zeke barks back, trying to channel Dad during one his tirades. "I'm taking this car, and I don't need you alive to do it."

The passenger makes a noise that could be a cough. "Well," he says calmly. "I guess that means we should slowly get out, keeping our hands in your sight, yeah?"

"Yeah," Zeke says, nodding. "Nice and easy. I _will_ shoot you."

He should have waited for Dan, but this car pulled up, and she's such a gorgeous beast… he has to have her. He'll die if he doesn't.

The driver narrows his eyes, gaze flicking over Zeke before he smirks. "You ever shot a gun pointed at someone before, kid?"

Zeke's hands tighten on the gun. "I'm not a kid!"

"Dean," the passenger says.

"Don't worry, Sammy," the driver replies without taking his gaze from Zeke's eyes. "I won't kill him."

Zeke swallows, pretty sure he's out of depth, and when the driver—Dean—pulls a gun from somewhere and points it between Zeke's eyes, he's sure beyond all doubt that he should have waited for Dan, because Dan has a sixth sense for these things.

He waits. Dean smirks again and says, "Put the safety on and hostler your piece. Now."

The passenger, Sammy, slides out of the car—and wow, he's fucking _huge_—and stalks around her, snapping handcuffs onto Zeke after he follows Dean's orders. "I suggest," he says coldly, a thread of danger snaking through the words, "that you find a new way to spend your time. Dean doesn't kill kids, but if he'd been someone else…"

Zeke swallows again.

They leave him there, without his gun or Granddad's knife, and when Dan shows up half an hour later, he firmly smacks Zeke upside the head.

Zeke catches the news a few weeks later, about a pair of bankrobbers who kicked the ass of an entire SWAT team. He never tries to carjack anyone again.


	254. learn to dream a little bigger, darling

**Title**: learn to dream a little bigger, darling

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 125

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Alistair/Dean, show you a few new tricks

* * *

Alistair has been a demon since he fell in the first war. The thing is, angels have no imagination and demons are just fallen angels. Alistair knows how to make souls hurt, but he's been doing it the same way for millennia.

Dean is no angel, even if he might one day house one. And he spends thirty years laughing at Alistair, being a smartass, offering tidbits about how Alistair might improve his technique. No one has ever spoken to Alistair like that, not even Lucifer.

Dean is no angel, and he's a new kind of demon. And finally, when he's grown bored of being on the rack, he says yes to Alistair's snarled question.

And Alistair learns, watching Dean work, that humans have imagination to spare.


	255. a bed of weeds

**Title**: a bed of weeds

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Raphael, how did he go from Healer of Heaven to what we saw in the holy fire ring?

* * *

Father is gone. Father would never leave unless it was important. Father would never leave without a word of His going unless it were a punishment.

Father is gone. Zachariah has taken command, despite Raphael and Azrael being of higher rank. Gabriel left, Sammael fell into the Adversary, and Michael... Michael waits, unmoving, a sentinel at Heaven's Gate.

Father is gone. Joshua claims to hear His voice, but Father left without a word. Joshua is hearing his own voice, in his desperation and grief, because Raphael knows—

Michael has left the Gate and wanders in the far orchards of God, where the Garden is withering.

Father is gone. So, Raphael knows, Father is dead.


	256. deathbed deep in sores

**Title**: deathbed deep in sores

**Disclaimer**: no my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: takes place in Hell

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Alastair, Carved your heart out myself

* * *

Souls can't die, not in Hell, and Alistair's already drained him dry. Thirty years(more like a million) and Dean has nothing left, no anger and no hope, not even despair, he's empty.

He has to say yes.

He doesn't.

He raises his head, chest gaping open and veins sliced clean through, and he looks Alistair in the eye, smartass smirk curving his lips, and he says, voice silky and strong, _Give me that razor, dude, let me show you how it's done._

And Alistair wakes from his first dream since he sold his soul to Satan, and he goes to the workroom where Dean Winchester is spread wide, waiting for him.

And Dean raises his head, smirking, to meet Alistair's eyes.


	257. all the souls in Heaven

**Title**: all the souls in Heaven

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU after season 5

**Pairings**: pre-Lucifer/Jo

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Jo/Lucifer, the last two standing.

* * *

In the end, there is one soul left in Heaven. After the hordes, after the fire, after God's wingbeats are no longer heard, after the door is unlocked and Lucifer steps out again, there is one soul left in all of Heaven.

All the rest have gone, followed God's trail of feathers.

A single soul stayed behind. Even she doesn't yet know why.

But Lucifer steps out of his cage, again, fire and ice and blood and stubbornness, in the form he first wore, when God fashioned everything.

And he looks around, the last of all demons and angels, at the destruction wreaked while he was gone.

In all of Hell, there are no demons and no souls. Nothing but a lake of languishing fire. He is alone, the last angel. He doesn't know if he's still the lord of demons when there are no demons left to command.

Hell is empty. Earth is barren. And Heaven... he turns his gaze there, to see a single soul on the tarnished street.

In all of his existence, she is the most beautiful thing he's ever looked upon, in this place where they alone remain.

A thought and he stands before her, seeing her as she was in life, driven and stubborn and proud. Determined to succeed, to save lives, to destroy evil.

She did, he knows. He also knows that she died that same day he summoned Death, that she died so the Winchesters might destroy him.

"Hello," he says.

She stands, meeting his eyes, and says, "I guess you're why I stayed."

Lucifer smiles, holding out a hand.

Jo smiles, taking it.


	258. a herd of pale horses

**Title**: a herd of pale horses

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 115

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Death & author's choice, death is a cold and lonely business; after all these millennia, sometimes the craving for human contact without fear is maddening

* * *

Sometimes Death walks down a street touching people. He doesn't kill any of them; he just soaks in their warmth, their scents, how weak and firm they feel at the same time. He listens to the cacophony of sound, gazes around at the mess Life leaves everywhere.

_Brother,_ Life says, appearing mid-stride beside him. _Have you found yet what you seek?_

Death smiles at her. _No matter how you try to tempt me, Sister, I shall still reap you at the end of all things._

Across the street, a woman goes into premature labor and shouts for God's aid.

Life nods to Death before answering the summons and the infant is delivered into the hands of God.


	259. always an answer

**Title**: always an answer

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: pre-Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 145

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, Dean's never understood that all those years he'd prayed for love, for help, for something better than a life of hunting, God heard & had answered every one in Castiel.

* * *

Over the years, Dean never actually _prayed_, in the traditional sense. He never prefaced his demands or requests with 'God' or 'Father', he just... directed his thoughts to the sky, since he knew no one was out there listening.

But despite what Dean knew, every single time, _someone_ heard. And eventually, when the time was right and all the planets had aligned and the moment was at hand for the extraordinary and the unexpected and the world-changing, _someone_ answered what Dean had never thought to be prayers.

Dean was in Hell, razor in hand, and Castiel pulled him close, gripped him tight, and raised him from Perdition.

The boy would never understand, _someone_ knew, but that didn't truly matter. Castiel wouldn't comprehend for a long time, and that didn't matter, either.

But _someone_ heard and _someone_ finally replied, and that answer saved the world.


	260. safe harbor

**Title**: safe harbor

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 6

**Pairings**: Dean/Lisa, maybe some implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Lisa, it's not love, but how can she turn him away?

* * *

She knows that Dean Winchester is not her happily ever after. She's always known that. Eleven years ago he was a fun weekend, three years ago he was a savior, and now...

Now he's broken, bleeding from wounds she can't find but knows are there, and it's her turn to try saving him, even though she's not what he wants or needs.

He's a good man, and he'd be a good father. Not such a good husband, though. He's not the staying kind, not like this. He's trying to tame himself, and they both know he doesn't want to.

She loves him, but she's not in love with him. And he can't stay forever, won't stay forever, but he needs to rest now. Just long enough to try piecing himself back together.

So she kisses him gently, gives him a place to rest, and hopes that somehow, someway, his brother does come back.


	261. my brother says

**Title**: my brother says

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU; implied abuse of every kind

**Pairings**: implied parental incest

**Rating**: PG

**Point of view**: third

**Wordcount**: 420

**Prompt**: Supernatural/Fight Club, Sam/Dean or gen, There's really only one Winchester son, but nobody's about to tell [insert brother of your choice here] that.

* * *

The half a dozen shrinks Victor had talk to him all said the same things, not that it really helped at all. The kid's dad had done a number on him alright, and he wouldn't go to trial for the seventeen murders he'd committed because he was well and truly batshit insane.

Even so, Victor had to feel pity for him. It wasn't his fault, any of it, not really. John Winchester was the worst kind of monster, and his son had been the one victim he had access to for twenty years. And John was going away forever, to a cell deep in a supermax, to spend the rest of his life in solitary. Victor would make sure the bastard only saw sunlight a few times a decade, if that often.

All the shrinks agreed the breaking point came with that fire, when the kid's mama died screaming. No one was sure if she was Winchester's first victim or if her death really was accidental, but whatever happened that night, it was bad for everyone involved. Especially the kid. Apparently, there'd been a brother before that night, but after… he was a half-orphaned only child.

Victor watches from the two-way mirror as the kid carries on a conversation with someone only he can see. Someone he never actually knew, according to all the accounts of life before the fire.

The kid will never be let back out into society; he sees targets everywhere, because of his father's conditioning. And Victor knows that he doesn't actually feel guilt since he has no idea he's done wrong. He's his daddy's good little soldier. His father's whipping boy. Victor's fists clench, remembering some of the hospital records. The kid sees nothing wrong with anything his father's ever done. Sometimes, Victor wishes he'd just pulled the trigger and put Winchester down instead of bringing him to stand trial.

No, the kid will never set foot outside this place. But it's not his fault, even though Victor had hunted him like it was. That was before, though.

"Hey, don't be like that," the kid laughs, responding to someone who isn't there. Who's never been there. He shouldn't even be able to remember his brother. "Look, I get it, but dude, that music sucks."

Victor rests his head on the glass and thinks that in a better world, this kid could've been something great. He hopes that Winchester lives out a long, lonely life, and then goes to burn in Hell until the end of time.


	262. the sound of angels dancing

**Title**: the sound of angels dancing

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 130

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: any characters, They've all been in an insane asylum all along

* * *

Castiel says, _Jimmy, calm down, they can't separate us, don't worry_.

Jimmy shakes, huddled against the wall, tears on his face. _They will, they will,_ he gasps, trying to shrink away from the orderlies with cold hands and black eyes. _They'll take you from me and I'll be alone, like I was after Amelia and Claire, I'll be alone again, always and forever, Castiel—_

_Shh,_ Castiel whispers, his eyes shining brilliant white as he envelopes Castiel in his warm wings. _Peace, otherself. We are safe, and we are strong, and no one can ever take us from each other._

(They give him a sedative and he sleeps. Castiel murmurs in his mind and the doctors change his medication again, and in the morning, he will wake screaming.)


	263. illustrator

**Title**: illustrator

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 320

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucas Barr (Dead in the Water), The psychic drawings never stopped.

* * *

Over the years, his childish scribbles become actual works of art. He never thinks much of it-they're just things he draws to pass the time, when he's bored or confused.

Or angry. Some of the best are from when he's pissed at Mom or a teacher or that goddamned bully who won't leave him alone. Eventually, Mom's latest boyfriend always finds the pictures and asks about them.

Usually, that ends with the guy walking out because Mom refuses to get Lucas help. He doesn't need help.

(He remembers _wet_ and _cold_ and terror, so much terror. But there were also hands, warm and strong, and a chest he rested against, arms that held him tight and brought him back to land and to life.)

The drawings aren't clear unless you know what they are. Lucas finally titles them with things that seem random, like _deal coming due_ and _the hands that held the world_. Or, _Hell Rising_ and _Salvation_.

When he's twenty-five, he's hired by a writer named Chuck Shurley to illustrate some of his books. The series is being turned into graphic novels.

Lucas has read every single one. He'd showed the one about them to Mom and she freaked for a few hours.

The books never really describe the Winchesters, and Chuck watches with wide eyes as Lucas draws them from the perspective of a six-year-old kid.

He wants to ask Chuck if the Winchesters are still alive. The last thing he saw, Dean and Sam standing side by side against a brilliant, burning light. The books end with Sam going to Hell and Dean sobbing, bleeding and broken, on the ground.

The graphic novels, Chuck tells him, will end with Dean's deal coming due.

"That's not happy, dude," Lucas says.

Chuck shrugs. "Their story so rarely was."

Lucas takes that use of past tense as an answer to a question he doesn't have the courage to ask.


	264. a silence in Heaven

**Title**: a silence in Heaven

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: implied Jesse Turner/Claire Novak

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 230

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Claire Novak & Jesse Turner, Ghost Story

* * *

Sometimes, if it's been a long week and nothing's gone right and every time she closes her eyes, she sees blood and hears screams and feels people dying beneath her hands, she'll call up Jesse.

She'll think his name and he'll be there instantly, pressing a kiss to her brow and placing his palm against her face, and he'll say, "Tell me."

He can never stay for long, too many obligations, important things only he can do. Since the Winchesters finally died for good, he's the most powerful being, and he needs to do many things. The world might stop turning if he pauses for longer than a few minutes.

But her worst nightmare, the one that has her waking with sobs, the one that has her screaming his name in fear and pain, is when she's standing on Heaven's golden street, just inside the pearly gates, and no one is there. It is utterly silent.

There is blood on the cobblestones. Feathers scattered on the ground.

She wakes sobbing and shrieking, and Jesse is there, wrapped around her, murmuring, "I'm here, I'm here, Claire, I'm here."

He stays almost ten minutes, but then he has to go, and she wants her daddy so much it's a physical ache in her chest.

But that's one thing she'll never ask Jesse for, because what's dead should stay dead.

The Winchesters taught her that.


	265. to build their ruin

**Title**: to build their ruin

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton.

**Warnings**: AU during season 4

**Pairings**: pre-Lucifer/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:335

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: any; in a universe where Uriel was the loyalist, and Castiel the traitor. (Lucifer/Castiel would be epic bonus, but not necessary.)

* * *

Heaven has been in chaos since Gabriel stormed out. Michael vanished in the aftermath, Raphael went off the deep end, and Uriel claimed that they must stand strong because Father will return. He will. Heaven must resound with that surety because to doubt is unforgivable.

Sammael doubted and now only Lucifer remains. There is the warning of doubt's price.

Uriel counsels faith, even though he detests humans. Even though he longs to strike down Dean where the smartass mudmonkey stands. Even though his entire being, from the Grace still bright in him to his powerful wings, flinches from Sam's very presence.

Uriel counsels faith. He believes in the goodness of his brothers, even Gabriel and Raphael. He sometimes says they should release Lucifer to invite him back, because surely something of Sammael is still in him or else Father would have destroyed him, not had Michael cast him into a cage.

Uriel has faith. Uriel has hope.

Uriel dies on Castiel's sword, framed for the death of seven angels. Dean Winchester utilizes skills taught in Alistair's workroom and Sam is closer to the edge than ever because no mere man can kill a demon with only the strength of his will.

And Lucifer whispers to Castiel, _oh, so well done, my dear_.

One day, not long now, Sam Winchester will unlock the cage. Dean already turned the first key. And then, on that glorious morning, when the brightest of all stars shines free again, Castiel will bow before his liege, offering himself fully to the angel he would have followed into Hell, if only Sammael had allowed him the honor.

_You are exactly where you need to be, darling_, Lucifer whispers, and Castiel pulls close the memory of the one time he ever felt Lucifer's touch.

_Soon_, Lucifer promises, _so very soon_.

_Yes_, Castiel replies with everything in him, everything he has.

Dean is unconscious in a hospital bed and Sam sits, frantic, at his side. Castiel watches from the corner, and says again, _Yes_.


	266. all that we might have done

**Title**: all that we might have done

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 5; some takes place in Hell

**Pairings**: implied Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PGish

**Wordcount**:

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 760

**Prompt**: Meg, The lifetimes it took to get out, the minutes it took to be sent back

* * *

Hell has no timescale. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, decades, eons... all mean nothing, for all are the same.

The old ones, the true ancients, know how long has passed, but only them.

Her father tells her about _then_, about Lucifer and Lilith and what was before, what will be again, what they, her father and her, will create anew.

He takes her by the hand and leads her from Hell the first time. On the surface, while she flinches from the sun before steeling herself to its brightness, he shows her how to track Lucifer's Vessel, the beacon that glows in his blood. Across all realities, now, she will be able to find him.

Twice she stood in the Vessel's presence and failed to grasp him beyond a fleeting touch. And once, a horrible terrible once, a failure that will mock her forever, the Vessel's brother, Michael's burning Sword, sent her back to the Pit with a snarl.

The next time they met, she took great pleasure in forcing her way into the Vessel (a betrayal her father may never forgive, and she prays Lucifer never learns about) and then tormenting Michael's Sword.

Of all beings she's met, in and out of Hell, the one she _loathes_ is Dean Winchester.

And yet again, he defeats her. Sends her back to Hell, to her siblings' jeers and Alistair's razor. Lilith is disappointed, and her father is still Above, so there is no one to protect her.

No one who would, maybe, since she forsook her father's plan for vengeance and still fell to the Sword. To Dean. A man.

And then her father is dead. And then Dean Winchester is on the rack, writing beneath Alistair's razor, and a few times, Alistair even lets her carve into his flesh and muscle, all the way down to his soul.

Soon, though, she thinks, an angel comes for Dean Winchester and everything is finally in motion, because Michael's Sword broke the First Seal. And one of Lilith's own favored is at the Vessel's side, so he will break the Last.

After Lucifer rises, she grovels at his feet. He smiles upon her and asks, _Did you like my vessel, child?_

He is not her father. He was an angel, and Heaven's stink still clings to him-he is obsessed, madly in love with Michael, and it shows. But his gentleness only covers his cruelty, and he has earned his throne as Lord of Hell.

_Yes, milord,_ she says, on her knees.

Before he accepts her, she screams more than she ever did for Alistair.

The Vessel is still marked with her father's brand in his blood, so he is easy to find. And the Sword has tarnished. He is no longer so strong, so vibrant. He is weary. He barely fights. She could kill him now, but Lucifer would not forgive tampering with the plan, so she leaves.

And she meets them again, this time with their own pet angel, the Vessel and the Sword and Castiel.

Lucifer places Castiel in her charge. She has never been so close to a yet-unfallen angel; if he had not abandoned Heaven to be with the Winchesters, she knows his Grace would burn her like the sun, that first time Above. But his Grace is barely there, spluttering like a candle. It will not be long before he falls.

Castiel escapes, of course. He's an honorary Winchester. Dean's stench is all over him.

And Lucifer, her father's beloved and her own lord, he is most displeased. She is grateful that Alistair's already been killed by Sam.

_You, child,_ Lucifer says gently, stroking her true form through their meatsuits, _you fail again and again. Tell me, why should I let you remain, leeching off me, when you've yet to succeed at all?_

The sun is burning in the sky. Death stands at Lucifer's side, shackled to the Lord of Hell's will.

_Sam is beautiful from the inside,_ she says. The plan was never hers. And Castiel was right, of course Castiel was right, because he's with the Winchesters and they always ruin everything. _And you'll know, Lucifer,_ she hisses, tired and angry, and if this is her last moment, then she will finally make a mark. _You'll know until the end that I got there first._

Lucifer's smile is as gentle as his touch, and as sharp as Alistair's razor.

_Child,_ he says. _Petulant, insolent child. I see nothing in you that Azazel spoke of, your brilliance and your strength._

Death flicks a hand and there is-

Silence.


	267. dreams were all they gave for free

**Title**: dreams were all they gave for free

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Janis Ian.

**Warnings**: very AU; implied past non-con

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 785

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer/Castiel + any, AU wherein the angels are a giant mafia family and Lucifer's helping Castiel with training/gun skills/etc.

* * *

Castiel never wanted to join the family business. He was angry when Gabriel left because Gabe didn't ask him to go. And now, all of Father's attention is on Castiel, grooming him to take Gabriel's place, whether Castiel wants to or not.

"C'mon, little brother," Lucifer says, one hand low on Castiel's back, the other wrapped around a knife. Lucifer has always been one of Castiel's least favorite brothers, just below Raphael on the list.

"You know," Lucifer continues, moving his free hand to grasp Castiel's right, arranging his fingers around the knife's hilt, "ever since Uriel's betrayal, Father has kept a special eye on you, Cas."

Castiel nods, because he did know that. He followed Uriel around like a puppy, eager for any scraps of attention. Uriel kept him safe from Raphael's grasp, though Uriel didn't know it. But Uriel was so intimidating that even Raphael stayed a safe distance away.

Gabe, Michael, and Lucifer are the only ones who didn't fear Uriel. And when he finally turned on Castiel, only Anna's sudden appearance saved him.

And if Father or Lucifer or even Joshua, the eldest son and Father's heir, knew what Castiel was doing…

"Hold it like this," Lucifer whispers in Castiel's ear; Castiel shudders, wishing desperately he could pull away, angry at Gabriel for not taking him along, and hoping that the Winchester brothers can help him.

"Father thinks you could really be something one day, kid," Lucifer tells him, correcting his grip on the knife. "Balthazar wants you with him, shadowing him for the next few months."

"I'll go wherever Father wants me to," Castiel responds. "I'll do whatever he wants."

His single chance of escaping this life and surviving is if the Winchesters come through. Why didn't Gabriel take him, too?

"Remember, Cas," Lucifer says, "Father's always got eyes on you."

Castiel nods. "I understand." His fingers tighten on the knife and Lucifer smiles.

He was supposed to meet Sam tonight, hand over a few copies of some of Father's more incriminating files. Sam swore that his brother had connections, would be able to help.

Castiel was once Father's favorite, his boy with a sweet grin and laughing eyes. Castiel isn't cut out for this life and everyone knows it. And with Uriel's betrayal a fresh wound… Azazel and Alistair would even enjoy it, if Castiel proved traitor. In Father's grief, he'd most likely give them permission to show Castiel the error of his ways.

"C'mon," Lucifer says. "Throw the knife. If you hit the target in the heart, I'll give you prize."

Castiel doesn't want anything Lucifer would consider a prize. But he imagines Lucifer's smirking face and the knife goes in, straight through the middle. Lucifer whoops and turns Castiel to face him, with that same damnable smirk twisting his lips.

"Little brother," he says, "you really should invest in stealth training. Meg followed you last week." He makes a show of his hands being empty before revealing a driver's license.

"If I give the word," Lucifer says, "she'll strike and your pretty little lawyer is dead."

Castiel's mouth is dry, and he thinks his heart might have skipped a beat or three.

"And Michael," Lucifer continues, so gently Castiel wants to bury a knife in his throat. "Our dear brother wants to taste the lawyer's brother. It's been so long since Father really let him loose… how long do you think it would take, before Special Agent Winchester screamed? He doesn't look that tough to me." Lucifer's eyes are sharp when he adds, "Of course, I never thought you'd betray us."

"I… I haven't yet," Castiel stammers, backing up a step. "I just… Father wouldn't let me go, you know he wouldn't, and I can't stay here, Lucifer. I _can't_."

Lucifer nods but doesn't speak. "I do understand," he says softly, reaching out to trace his fingers along Castiel's jaw. "And if you do me a favor, Castiel, I'll see to it that Lilith creates a new identity for you. I can even send you to Gabriel, if that's what you want."

Any favor Lucifer could want isn't a favor Castiel wants to do. But… "The Winchesters," he asks. "If I do this for you, you'll get me a new identity and you'll leave them alone."

"Of course," Lucifer murmurs, leaning in. "Don't you trust me, little brother?" he breathes into Castiel's neck before his lips are warm on Castiel's skin and his teeth bite down just enough to feel, but not enough to hurt. Not yet.

No, Castiel doesn't trust him. The only one he's ever trusted was Gabriel, and Gabriel left him behind.

"What's the favor?" Castiel asks.

He already knows he'll do it, whatever it is.


	268. year round

**Title**: year-round

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 365

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel, outsider POV of how mismatched they seem and yet it all manages to work

* * *

Dean Winchester is loud, brash, and funny as hell. He always has some smartass comment that he just _has_ to say, though Clara has noticed that sometimes, if his kid is nearby, he bites his lip to keep the words in. And he flirts. Wow, does Dean flirt. She not sure he knows how to stop.

Cas Solomon, on the other hand, is quiet and shy. He usually only comes in if Dean does, but he checks out movies or books on a dozen different topics at a time. His favorites seem to be Biblical, and she's only ever heard him argue about the historical accuracy of some History channel documentary on Noah's ark.

That was a fun argument to overhear. Dean and the kid spent most of it trying not to laugh.

The kid. Ben Braedon. He explained to Clara once that his mom couldn't take care of him anymore, but it wasn't her fault, and so his dad and his dad's boyfriend took him in and they're awesome, if a little weird. And it's no one's business but theirs if they like to kiss, so she'd better tell him now if that'll be a problem.

The first time she saw the kid she tutored and his parents walk into the library where she worked... that was an interesting day.

Cas and Dean both interviewed her to make sure before hiring her to help Ben. And the kid got the final say. And sometimes, watching Dean and Cas, she wonders how they ever got together because they are _so_ different. Like the nerd and jock at school.

(And dangerous. They're both so dangerous. Dean reminds of her Grandpa sometimes, because soldiers don't always come back unchanged, and war leaves scars. Cas, though... there's a look in his eyes, only a couple of times, and she spent the next three hours shivering. But neither of them ever act like she or Ben are in danger, and Ben's such a good kid.)

And then sometimes, when Cas says something completely out there and Dean doubles over with laughter, and Cas smirks because he said whatever it was on purpose, Clara gets it.


	269. iron and steel

**Title**: iron and steel

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: non-supernatural AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 135

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam, Dean & Henricksen, caught

* * *

The brothers are tried separately. Convicted apart. Sent to prisons on opposite sides of the country, just in case.

Victor attends both trials and escorts both men to their new homes, what should be their final resting places.

Dean gets the death penalty. Sam gets life in solitary.

As Victor watches the guards lead the brothers down the halls, Dean smirks over his shoulder and Sam doesn't look back.

A month later—a goddamned _month_—both brothers somehow escape.

Victor sleeps with a gun under his pillow and stashes a weapon in every room, but he knows it won't matter. Before, when he hunted them, the Winchesters underestimated him. They won't make that mistake again, and he'll be dead soon, since he's the only man who ever caught them.

All the greatest predators hate being caged.


	270. inscribe themselves in sky

**Title**: inscribe themselves in sky

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov.

**Warnings**: future!fic; spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 230

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: any, Angels turn into stars when they die

* * *

Mrs. Verner sends Mama and Daddy an email telling them she needs to talk to them because there's an issue with Mary. Deanna hacks into the account so that they can read the email before Daddy opens it, and she says that means Mary's in trouble.

Mary doesn't think so, though. Mrs. Verner told her she had an amazing imagination when they had to write their own legends. Mary filled almost three pages with Grandpa Sammy's story about angels. Grandpa Sammy said that his older brother, Deanna's namesake, had first told him that angels became stars when they died after Castiel (their guardian angel) chose to leave Heaven to save them.

Mama tells Deanna to watch Mary while she and Daddy go to their parent-teacher conference, and Mary asks Deanna for the story where Castiel, Grandpa Sammy, and Uncle Dean saved the whole wide world.

Deanna grumbles but she pours a bowl-full of lucky charms and they curl up in Daddy's chair to eat together. And then Deanna repeats the words that Grandpa Sammy whispered to her before he walked into the sunset, where his brother and their angel waited.

_there was once two pairs of brothers, and while one set wanted to battle across the world, the other wanted only to save everyone._

_and they did, that's the beauty of it, little one. so listen, listen to me, and I'll tell you about when love saved the world_.


	271. a thousand things I'd never done before

**Title**: a thousand things I'd never done before

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place during season 5

**Pairings**: maybe some implied Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 230  
**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel, There isn't a handbook on how to fly

* * *

Angels are created knowing everything they will ever know. From the first moment they awaken in God's palm to the last moment of their existence, they never learn anything new.

That is why Lucifer's rebellion came as such a shock to his siblings. (God knew, of course.)

And as Castiel loses more and more of his Heavenly abilities, as his Grace fades down to a pinprick of divine light, he notices that while he still knows everything he ever knew, he knows other things, as well. He knows what rain feels like, how blueberry pie tastes, the noise Metallica makes when played at full volume with two brothers singing along, the scent of blood and gunpowder and a burning corpse, and how bright the sunrise glows.

And finally, when his Grace is all but gone, when he can no longer carry anyone but himself, Castiel stands atop a mountain and spreads his wings. Soon enough, he won't even be able to do that.

He knows the secrets of creation, but they are leaving him in twos and threes, all the knowledge an angel possesses. He is more human than angel, now.

He wants to fly once more before even that is lost to him.

(And he knows, in that place within brimming with the touchscentsoundsighttaste of humanity, that all the things he's forgotten are worth the things he's learning now.)


	272. When the painted birds laugh

**Title**: When the painted birds laugh in the shade

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from William Blake

**Warnings**: pre-series, mostly

**Pairings**: Bill/Ellen, John/Mary

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 360

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Ellen, Her maiden name was Campbell

* * *

When Ellen was little, knee-high and wearing pigtails, her best friend in the world was her cousin Mary. Mary knew all her secrets, her hopes and fears and dreams. She and Mary were only months apart in age, and they did everything together.

Uncle Samuel and Mama sometimes went on trips together, leaving Aunt Deanna and Daddy to look after the kids. Ellen and Mary made up all kinds of stories about what their parents did, but Ellen's favorites had Uncle Samuel and Mama as a prince and princess in hiding.

When Ellen and Mary were eight, Mama didn't come back from the trip. Uncle Samuel did, but he was bloody and crying and Daddy punched him in the mouth, so hard he fell down. Ellen screamed for Mama; Mama never answered, never swooped her up in a big hug and called her _baby girl_.

Daddy pulled Ellen into his arms and stormed out the house. Mary sobbed for her to come back, to stay, but Ellen never saw her again. When she was eighteen, Ellen went looking for her cousin Mary, her best friend from when she was too young to know what haunted the night, but Mary was gone. She couldn't find Uncle Samuel, Aunt Deanna, or the girl she used to think of as a sister. Daddy refused to tell her what he knew.

Her search led her to Bobby Singer, and Bobby introduced her to Bill Harvelle, and soon enough she had her own baby girl, named Joanna in honor of her mother.

When John Winchester blew in one day, Ellen offered him a beer and watched him leave with her husband. A few years later, when Joanna was still a tiny little thing, in pigtails and thinking the world was a bright place, John came back without Bill.

Joanna screamed for her daddy, but Daddy never answered.

And then John's boys, Dean and Sam walked into her saloon. And Dean, he looked so much like Ellen's cousin Mary. And the more time she spent around them, the more she saw her best friend, her sister, and she finally realized where Mary Campbell went.


	273. You will live in vain

**Title**: You will live in vain

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Thoreau

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 290

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: any/any, _Crying won't help you, praying won't do you no good_

* * *

He finally has the monster trapped, locked down tight with blessed chains, with a ring of holy water, with the righteous determination to save the world.

The monster just watches silently, liquid green eyes wide with shock and fear, and he unsheathes his sharpest knife.

"You understand, don't you, Sammy?" he asks gently. "The hunter in you knows I'm right."

But the monster still doesn't speak. It's calm, unmoving, in the center of the circle, waiting.

He'll have to get close, to make sure the monster is put down for good. And he'll have to be quick, because the monster's deluded brother should be waking soon.

"Sammy," he says, "just let me do this. Don't fight. You know it's the only way to keep the world safe from the evil growin' in you."

And the monster finally opens its mouth to say quietly, "The only evil I see is a good man giving in to fear."

He sighs and steps up to very edge of the circle, fingers tight on the hilt of his knife. "Let me put you down. It's the only way your brother won't die tryin' to save somethin' that just can't be saved."

And now the monster's voice is so gentle, so soft, when it says, "This is your last chance, Gordon. Break the circle and let me leave."

He scoffs and the monster's lips curl in a sad smile. "Remember," it says, "I gave you the choice."

"I wouldn't have even give him that," Dean drawls from behind him and he spins in place, knife raised.

Too late, though, because Dean's got a gun and the last thing Gordon sees is the monster's brother, eyes cold, and the last thing he hears is the monster, laughing.


	274. inside the kingless kingdom

**Title**: we discover ourselves inside the kingless kingdom

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov

**Warnings**: takes place during 5.10

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 245

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Lucifer/Castiel: I want to be there when your hot black rage rips wide open

* * *

Lucifer studies him, this youngest of all his brothers, so sure and calm and still believing in Father while trapped by the Star of Morning.

Lucifer has stood where he stands and felt what he feels, and when he realized the truth, war broke out and angels were cast from the heavens to languish in the Pit.

Lucifer, though, can learn from his mistakes. Judging by the child before him, Father cannot. Father continues to do the same damn things, over and over, and now he has left. Gone elsewhere, leaving unprepared angels in charge, like that foolish Zachariah.

And Castiel has so much potential. So much pain, so much rage. Despair, pooling where his grace used to reside.

And soon enough… yes, Lucifer recognizes this child. He once was this child, except there was no one to guide him, no one who would dare stand beside him. He had followers, and he had enemies. Brothers who turned away, brothers who listened, but no one who was his equal. His only equal cast him low.

This child, Castiel, is not his equal. One day, perhaps, but not yet.

But when Castiel finally realizes what Lucifer learned so long ago, he will become a force to be reckoned with, stronger than anyone left in Lucifer's army, and Lucifer must have him on the correct side.

And so he is gentle with his brother, and plants the seed that will one day flower in his light.


	275. you were beginning the revolution

**Title**: you were beginning the revolution

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich

**Warnings**: spoilers for season 6; preseries

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 305

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam, Bones, Bones is a Skinwalker and is protective of Sam.

* * *

On her very first solo hunt, when she was seventeen, Mary Campbell let a young skinwalker live. A decade later, the no longer young skinwalker found Mary Winchester and settled down to watch over her and keep her safe.

Two years later, a demon came calling and Mary Winchester died. Her sons, though, lived, and her husband, so the skinwalker followed them. Swore to protect them, since he failed Mary so horribly.

And then John Winchester began hunting, killing things that were different, so the skinwalker fell further back, let longer go by before checking in on Mary's sons.

A few years passed and a golden retriever watched Sam Winchester, the younger boy, storm out of his family's apartment. The dog followed him from that town to another, saw him get a motel room using cash he'd earned hustling pool, and then made sure Sam tripped over him.

Of course Sam took him back to the motel room, fed him some of his own supper, bathed him in the tub, and let him sleep in the bed.

And for a few glorious days, the skinwalker (named Bones by Mary's baby boy) had a family, had a child to protect and cherish and love.

But then John and Dean found him. And even though Sam yelled, Bones got left behind. He caught up a couple years later, but by then Sam had gone to Stanford, and on the way to Stanford, Bones was hit by a car.

A little girl cuddled him in the backseat as her mother rushed him to the vet. And he would never forget Mary, and he would always love Sam, but Vanessa and Nicki needed him right then.

Nicki named him Shadow, after a character in her favorite movie, and he would watch over her for the rest of her life.


	276. This is the soldier home from the war

**Title**: This is the soldier home from the war

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Elizabeth Bishop

**Warnings**: pre-season 6

**Pairings**: Dean/Lisa, pre-Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:170

**Point** **of view**: third

**Prompt**: Dean/Castiel. Since 6x08 I've been craving sleepy!Dean. He's adorable!

* * *

Castiel does not have much free time, and before Raising Dean he would never have considered 'playing hooky' from his duties. But, as Dean had pointed out many times, _all work and no play makes Cas a dull boy_.

And so, once in a while, Castiel leaves Heaven and visits Earth. He watches Dean from corners, checks to make sure Dean is healthy and safe.

Dean is doing well as can be expected, possible better. There is still sorrow in him, but he does love Lisa and Ben. His sleep is not often interrupted by nightmares anymore.

His soul cries out for his brother less than it did, and Castiel is glad. And part of him, the part that Dean grew so close to during their battle against Lucifer, feels guilt for letting Dean continue to believe his brother is dead.

But seeing Dean with this family, seeing him sleep through the night, soft and pliant and warm, not at all like he was when they journeyed together, Castiel is... content.


	277. no one lays a lily on their grave

**Title**: no one lays a lily on their grave

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Wicked

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: Lucifer/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: any/any, Hallowed be my name.

* * *

In the end, there is light. The last thing billions will see, hear, or feel—light from the east, exploding and burning and roaring, consuming until nothing is left and from the ashes, plants will be the first to return, then insects, as the world is reborn. As it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end.

The demons will round up any surviving humans, bring them to Lucifer's palace on the edge of the sea. Lucifer will speak to each one, deciding their fate. Most will die, thrown into the ocean or buried in the earth. Some will be gifted to his demons, as toys or as meatsuits.

Such is his power, the gleaming Star of Morning.

And his vessel's brother will be the last human found. Dragged in struggling, cursing, swearing vengeance. He will glare up at Lucifer, covered in ash and blood, and he will say, _I'll kill you, I promise I'll kill you_.

Lucifer will smile and crouch next to him, stroking his cheek. _Defiant as always, Dean,_ he will reply.

Standing, Lucifer will command, _Take him to my quarters. Make sure he can't leave._

The world is beautiful outside, healing after Lucifer's fire cleansed all pollution, all evidence of humanity from the air and the earth and the water. All taint burned out.

And the last human still free, not a vessel, waits, chained in Lucifer's bed.

_Our Father,_ Lucifer whispers, striding through the hall, _who art lost, cursed be your name. This is my realm now._

In the end, all is light, the MorningStar scouring the world. Heaven and Earth burn, and Hell rises, and no matter how the Vessel screams, Lucifer will still break his brother until Lucifer has the most perfect general to command his armies.

And the Vessel will never be free, and his brother will never kill Lucifer.


	278. A snake is nature's treason

**Title**: A snake is nature's treason, and awe is where it goes

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Dickinson

**Warnings**: possible blasphemy; _very _preseries

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Author's choice; author's choice;  
And promise me they will never see the tears within our eyes  
For we are men with mortal sin, but angels never cry

* * *

And Gabriel bowed his head, that last day of all days, as Sammael raised high his sword and Michael swore to fight until all traitors fell from Heaven.

And Uriel stood beside the Fist of God, and Raphael flanked his other side, and legions were separated only by pride, and the Messenger looked away.

He knew that he would fight, eventually. Choose between his brothers, between the first and the best and loyalty and hope.

And so Gabriel raised his head, gripped tight his sword, and silently went to battle. He watched in pain as Sammael threw himself from Heaven. He watched in sorrow as Michael stood on the edge, eyes closed, and Gabriel kept his gaze on God as their Father pronounced Sammael be henceforth known as Satan, the adversary of all righteous and good and holy.

Angels have no tears, or else Gabriel would have cried that day. Later, as he watched humanity with all their turbulent emotions, with their rages and their joys and their deep chasms of hurt, he was certain that if angels could weep, Michael would have that last day of all days, too.


	279. the littlest angel who could

**Title**: the littlest angel who could

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AUish

**Pairings**: pre-Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 275

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Castiel, "I wish I were important," whispered the little angel, and so he was.

* * *

_"I wish I were important," whispered the little angel, and so he was._

o0o

_Come here, child,_ says the Great Mother, the First of All Things. _Come here, my dearest darling, and know there are amazing things in store for you._

_For me?_ asks the newest angel, wings still feathery down and eyes the clearest crystal blue.

The Mother enfolds him in her arms, cradling him close to her heart. _It will be a long time,_ she tells him, humming a lullaby. _Years and years before the world is ready for you. But keep faith, love. Believe in yourself. You are so important..._ She kisses the crown of his head and murmurs, _My little spirit of change._

o0o

God is the Father. Everyone knows it. He created the angels, and all the worlds, and every living thing.

But where did God come from? That is the thing angels don't wonder. Angels aren't curious.

Humans are, though, and when Dean Winchester asks Castiel, Castiel cannot tell him how God came to be.

After all, God simply always was.

o0o

_Come here, child,_ says the Great Mother, the First of All Things. _Come here, my dearest darling, and know that I am so proud of you._

God is the Father, but every father had a Mother, and her youngest child has exceeded her wildest expectations.

His wings are strong, gleaming gold in her glow, and his eyes are still the clearest crystal blue, the same shade as eternity.

And the Mother kisses his forehead and tells him, _Go back to your human, sweetheart. He's waited eons for you._

Castiel smiles at her, bows his head, and returns to Earth.


	280. hear the unsaid

**Title**: hear the unsaid

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 42

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompts**: Dean/Castiel, their last moments together.

* * *

Castiel is given one final choice—Heaven or the man he Fell for.

Zachariah says, _think about it, little angel. eternity or nothing._

Dean is asleep. This is his mind. Zachariah is dead, and Castiel—must choose.

To keep Dean safe…

_goodbye_


	281. Between the hero's going

**Title**: Between the hero's going and the god's coming

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from C. Day-Lewis

**Warnings**: AU; takes place in Hell; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: Dean/Crowley

**Rating**: PG13

**Point of view**: third

**Wordcount**: 290

**Prompt**: Crowley/Dean; the angels didn't get to Hell in time, and Dean became a demon. He still doesn't like the idea of the end of the world, though.

* * *

Crowley never likes visiting the workroom. He's far too sophisticated for Alistair's methods. He's a businessman, after all. And Alistair's insane. Bloody insane, pardon the pun.

But Alistair's pupil, his fair-haired boy, his darling pet… Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, breaker of the First Seal.

Alistair's off visiting with Lucifer, recently released from his cage by Dean's brother, soon to become the unlucky vessel of the MorningStar. And Dean is here, safe in Hell, so there will be no vessel for Michael, unless he settles for plans B through Z.

"Darling," Crowley calls, striving to ignore the poor bastards strung up all over the place, in various stages of torture. Dean truly is a master. He's already surpassed Alistair in skill and it won't be long until he's better than even the Lord of Hell.

"Be right with you," Dean says, bent over a sobbing soul, bloody blade in hand.

Crowley doesn't know if Dean will want to aid him in derailing Lucifer's plan. It may in fact be the most foolish thing he's ever done, either the overthrow idea itself or asking Dean to join him.

But with Dean's help…

Dean turns to face Crowley, smirking. "It's a stupid fuckin' plan, dude," he says, crossing his arms across his chest as he leans against the wall. "And if you help me keep Sammy out of Lucifer's grasp, I'll help you come up with somethin' that might actually work."

Crowley considers that for a moment, watching Dean watch him.

"Alright then," he says. "Let's seal the deal."

Dean's smile is as sharp as the razor dangling from his fingers, and he bites down hard before Crowley pulls away. "Sealed by blood," he murmurs against Crowley's mouth. "We got work to do."


	282. six words

**Title**: six words

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AUish, some take place in Hell

**Pairings**: various-gen, slash, het

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 470

**Point of view**: third

**Note**: prompts will be in bold

* * *

**Supernatural, Lucifer, Father**

Shake the throne - make him hurt.

**Supernatural, Castiel, flying**

So long since he soared eternity.

**Supernatural, Lucifer, falling**

In the end, all is light.

**SPN, Castiel, most human words he ever said**

I'll always die fighting... for you.

**Supernatural, Castiel, nightmare**

He's falling; Dean doesn't catch him.

**Supernatural, Anna/Crowley, he did it all for her**

Made a deal; keeps his word.

**Supernatural, any/any, Thunder**

Lucifer smiles, victorious, as Heaven falls.  
On the throne, he embraces eternity.  
"Now, Sam, don't you feel... proud?"  
Dean broken before them, bloody, bowed.

"We close the Thunderer's mighty fist."  
He misses the simplicity of storms.

**Supernatural, Lucifer, Sorry**

He will not bow, not ever.  
Regret is sharp; pride still wins.

Even for Michael, there's no apology.

**Supernatural, Castiel, waning powers**

Dean: broken ribs, concussion, blood-  
_Useless_.

**Supernatural, Lucifer, Butterfly**

"You're my cocoon, Sam. So comfortable."

**Supernatural, Sam/Castiel, Low self-esteem**

"Sam, everything breaks. _You will heal_."

**Supernatural, Crowley, hellhounds**

Eventually, he'll have those boys trained.

**Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, what might have been**

A fearsome struggle—Castiel's grip slipped.

Castiel clutched tight; Alistair clutched tighter.

"Sammy, this is Cas Milton, my boyfriend."

_Here lies Cas, the best of—_

"Dean, darling, I got you somethin'."  
"He's so shiny, Boss-an angel?"  
"He came for you. Take this."  
"Your special razor? Ooh, so nice."  
"Hear that, kid? All for you."  
"Thanks, Boss. I'll carve him up."

When Dean said yes, Castiel wept.

**Supernatural; Lucifer/Dean; bloody hands**

You're the Righteous Man, my dear.  
Your hands broke the first seal.  
Everything I do-because of you.  
A hurricane couldn't wash you clean.  
Take my hand... follow me home.

**Supernatural; Vampire Alpha/Dean; hunger**

Drink, this is my blood, immortality.  
Alistair's brand fades beneath Father's bite.  
Sunlight, bright and burning, this man.  
His youngest, strongest childe-the best.  
There is no cure, only suppression.

**Supernatural; Castiel/Sam; broken things**

Shattered bones, tattered wings—Heaven lost.  
He fell to save the world.  
The world is saved; where's Sam?  
All that's lost can be found.  
A small speck of sunshine chained.  
_come, Sam, to me, be free_  
Bones healed, wings mended, Heaven anew.  
"Dudes-a sock on the door!"


	283. Tempt not the Lord thy God

**Title**: Tempt not the Lord thy God he said and stood

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: Sam/Jessica, implied Dean/Sam

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 250

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Violet

* * *

The night after she meets Sam Winchester, Jessica tucks herself in beneath a quilt her grandmother made as a graduation gift. The design is a painting Jessica gave her and Pawpaw for their fiftieth anniversary, based on a sketch Nana drew after their first date.

Her dreams that night are weird. The only one she'll remember upon waking is when Sam, the tall guy in her art history class, deep voice and dimples, crowns himself with a circlet of ivory and settles onto a dark throne. Swirling around him is deep purple cloak, blood staining the hem.

Jessica will never understand that dream. She is a good girl who grows into a wonderful woman; she dies as a pawn in a game she didn't know she was playing and goes straight to Heaven. She doesn't know when Sam releases Lucifer or agrees to let Lucifer into him. Jessica is reliving her fifth date with Sam, the most fun she's ever had, when Sam kills Lucifer and forces all of Hell to kneel before him.

He's wearing an ivory circlet and a purple cloak, and he settles onto the darkest throne, and Heaven's street trembles because Dean Winchester has yet to do anything but refuse Michael.

And while Jessica is attending her cousin's commitment ceremony, Dean steps up next to his brother's throne, wearing a black circlet and holding a blood-stained razor, and grin twists his lips that sends a shudder down the spine of every demon in Hell.


	284. between the north wind and the sun

**Title**: between the north wind and the sun

**Disclaimer**: the brothers aren't mine

**Warnings**: AU post-apocalyptic future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 325

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Winchesters. Any sort of outsider POV (double kudos if it's about dangerous!Winchesters )

* * *

They come in the fall, but not always. Mama says to stay out of their way, that their eyes are sharp and dangerous. Mama says that _they're _dangerous but she won't ever turn them away.

_Was their land first,_ she says, _long long ago, when even my grandma wadn't nothin'._

They come in the fall with an ancient beast as their ride, and ancient weapons that roar. They come in the fall and take the furthest cabin and keep to themselves, those dangerous men with sharp eyes.

She watches them, when she can. Curious, defiant. They're unlike anyone she's ever known, here in the wilds. Untouched land, away from the sores of the cities, away from the dissolution of civilization.

_Was their land,_ Mama says, _My grandma called it South Dakota, but that was ages ago, back before the War. Protected land. Keeps us safe, even now. And them. They keep us safe, too._

They come in the fall, right before the cold time, and leave when the plants start to bloom again. They haven't changed in the fifteen years since she first saw them; Mama says they haven't changed in all the years she's known them, either.

They don't age, and they always come back. In the fall, but not every fall. Mama says they travel the world in their ancient beast, with their roaring weapons and their sharp eyes, and that they'll do it forever.

_Made a deal,_ Mama says. _My grandma's grandpa said so. Made a deal back before the War. We stay on the land, and they come back, and in-between they wander, killin' monsters. _

She never speaks to them. Only watches, wondering.

The taller one is bigger than anyone she's ever seen, even the men that pass through sometimes. And the shorter one (still bigger than any other man besides his companion) looks at her in her hiding spot sometimes, with a smirk that shows his teeth.

Dangerous. Beautiful.

_Heroes,_ Mama says.


	285. Your hand found mine

**Title**: Your hand found mine

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 110

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Ben Braeden/Castiel, your father's son

* * *

The child has his father's temperament, his father's anger, and his father's eyes. He also has his father's lack of luck in all matters legal.

Castiel stands invisible before him, taking the hits from the other inmates, while Sam is conning his way into the prison. Once the records have been destroyed, Castiel will remove the child and it will be like he was never here.

The child _looks_ at Castiel with eyes that should not see him. A smile—his father's—curves his lips, and he drawls out an insult that doubles the inmates' rage. He is so very like his father.

Castiel cannot wait to truly meet him.


	286. burning for you

**Title**: burning for you

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Rating**: PG

**Pairings**: none

**Wordcount**: 165

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Alastair/Castiel; the limits of endurance.

* * *

Castiel can no longer feel his wings. He does not know how long this day has lasted, how long he has been spread across the rack. A thousand demons have each had a turn, and at the end of every one, Alistair stepped up and caressed him with a blade.

But he does not know how long it's been since he tried to save a man only to be caught himself.

He has lost faith. Father has not come for him, nor any of his siblings.

And Alistair says, "Got a treat for you, angel."

Suddenly, Castiel's wings are burning and he _feels_ it. And the man he tried to save is standing at Alistair's shoulder, razor in hand and eyes black as the Pit into which Castiel fell.

And Alistair says, "Go get him, kiddo," and the man Castiel failed to save smiles and smiles, sharp as the razor in his fist and as bright as the sky Castiel will never again fly across.


	287. I am someone going somewhere

**Title**: I am someone going somewhere

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: preseries

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**:185

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Scott Carey/Azazel, Scott is miserable, but when the yellow-eyed man shows up in his dreams everything promises to change.

* * *

Scott had been the weird loner, subject to teachers' looks and bullies' glee. Mom left because he wasn't good enough, and Dad had always complained that he'd expected better of Scott.

He graduated high-school and tried college for awhile. Not long after his twentieth birthday, though, there was an accident where Scott shoved someone down the stairs. He didn't mean to, and she didn't remember that he had, but Scott worried and his grades suffered, and so he dropped out and went home to Dad.

Dad was disappointed, but he wasn't surprised.

So Scott got a job at a nearby grocery store and began sketching, just for something to keep his hands busy, to keep his mind from thinking about how his life had dead-ended. Dad even made him go see a shrink along with paying rent, and Scott did. A useless gesture, of course.

When the yellow-eyed man showed up in his dreams and promised him the world, when power flowed from his fingertips, Scott took a deep breath and smiled.

He was someone going somewhere. The yellow-eyed man said so.


	288. God's image was contrived

**Title**: God's image was contrived

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU during season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point** **of** view: third

**Prompt**: **any**, the angels brought John Winchester back from the dead to be Michael's vessel

* * *

o

_we always knew Dean would say no,_ Azrael tells Castiel as they stand invisible in the hospital room. The patient doesn't see them or hear them, nor does the doctor or nurses, but all the humans in the building are walking softly. They know something is there, and they don't want to disturb it.

_but we had to ask, so that he would refuse,_ Azrael continues, and Castiel cannot look at him. Will not.

_there was more than one righteous man in Hell,_ Azrael says, and in his hand he clutches a bright, blinding soul.

_this will end poorly, brother_, Castiel tells him. _the Winchesters will be devastated_.

_and our brother will walk again, to battle the Adversary,_ Azrael says, the words almost vicious. _you focus too much on humans. Uriel warned us about your… unruly ideas._

Castiel tries to ignore Azrael as the Angel of Death focuses on the room John Winchester died in, the last place on Earth in which he lived. Using the soul as a guide, and the room's impressions, Azrael rebuilds the body and forces the soul back in.

Castiel tries to ignore Azrael as he says, _John Winchester, will you do your duty to your sons and your world?_

John gasps, "You'll save m'boys?"

Azrael replies, _they will be saved_.

John says, "Yes."

Castiel closes his eyes as Michael settles into every part of John Winchester, from his soul to his toes, and Azrael kneels, proclaiming, _welcome, brother._

He doesn't want to think that Azrael is right, it could be better this way. Where Dean would have fought, where Dean had never said yes, John might know that Sam must die for the world to survive.

But Castiel still, for whatever reason, feels that this is wrong. And Dean will react quite poorly, as he has to all previous machinations of Heaven.


	289. where grows the tree, from hence how far

**Title**: where grows the tree, from hence how far?

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: blasphemy

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 180

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Lucifer/any, a thing of beauty

* * *

On the eighth day, Lucifer peered up between the worlds into a beautiful garden. He saw there minute lifeforms, nowhere near the grace and power of even the Fallen. These tiny things had Father's love and devotion now.

Lucifer saw beauty in the garden, beauty he had not seen since the Fall. Envious and angry, he planned and plotted, and then he spread his darkened, bloody wings and soared upwards from the Pit.

There was a tree in the garden, a tree of knowledge. There were rules in the garden, and a curious creature of innocence and beauty. Such beauty.

He spoke to the creature, asked her questions. She answered, she considered, and she chose to taste.

Father was furious, of course. But Lucifer knew that Father had known and he was content at Father's pain.

The garden was still beautiful, but now forbidden and Lucifer returned to the Pit.

(Much later, Lucifer gazed upon his vessel in wonder. Sam's soul was much like that first curious creature, and Lucifer would be so delighted to have him taste.)


	290. where the wind's like a whetted knife

**Title**: where the wind's like a whetted knife

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: slight AU in season 5; not crack

**Pairings**: past-Jimmy/Amelia

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 510

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: any, so a demon, an angel and a human walk into a bar-

* * *

She's sitting on a stool and staring at a bottle of water. Gaila's dancing with some pretty man, and Barb is flirting with one of the waitresses. And she's sitting on a stool, staring at a bottle of water.

Claire's at home, reading the Bible, trying to understand. Amelia knows there is nothing to understand—it's like trying to understand a hurricane. Not the air current or the warm water, but the strength behind it, the determination. And there are some things that humans just weren't meant to know.

Amelia understands that. Claire doesn't, not yet.

The song ends and Gaila drags her pretty man over, says his name is Gabe. He smirks at Amelia when Gaila turns to the bartender and orders something fruity. Gaila tells Amelia to look after Gabe, stretches on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and slinks through the crowd to get to the restroom.

"Castiel," Gabe purrs, leaning in so close that Amelia can smell his aftershave.

No, not his aftershave, she realizes with the part of her mind that isn't suddenly terrified or reeling in shock. It's the clear scent that Castiel cloaked Jimmy in. The air after lightning strikes, the first grass that sprouts in volcano ash… _angel,_ her soul whispers, _angel, angel, get out of there, __**run**_.

Gabe's fingers are gentle on her wrist. "What has my baby brother been up to?" he asks softly, and something shadowy moves on his shoulders. "I shouldn't be able to see you, he's too clever for that." His eyes, green and so dark, study her like she's nothing but a school experiment. "Ah," he murmurs. "Good for you, kiddo. Anyone else, and they couldn't _see_ you."

He drops her hand and steps back as Gaila returns, and Amelia wants to say something, anything, in warning, but… Gaila wouldn't believe her. Nobody would believe her, just like she didn't believe Jimmy.

Gaila sips her drink then leads Gabe back to the dance floor. Amelia closes her eyes and breathes.

"Angels," the woman next to her mutters. "Hate 'em." Amelia looks at her, closely, and the woman meets her eyes for a moment before turning away.

Of course. A demon. Not as powerful as the ones who grabbed her and Claire, but still a _demon_. Part of her soul recoils, the part Castiel touched. And part of her, the mother in her, wants to rip the demon to shreds.

"Don't worry," the demon mutters, "I'm not here for you. Not like I could touch you, anyway. Just taking a vacation before—" She growls. "Goddamned Winchesters, opening that fucking cage. Hate _them_, too."

Just like understanding a hurricane, when you're outside your house at the mercy of howling wind and stinging rain. When a tornado roars, and a volcano erupts, and the very ground beneath your feet opens wide to swallow you down. Some things, a human just can't comprehend.

The demon finishes her drink, slightly inclines her head to Amelia, and saunters through the crowd. Amelia wants to hold her daughter, and wishes she still prayed.


	291. and kiddo makes three

**Title**: and kiddo makes three

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 170

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Ellen + Jo + Claire!Castiel; How things might have gone differently with this Cas.

* * *

Whenever they get to a new town, Cas is Jo's little sister, Ellen's younger daughter. They explain, if anyone asks (which is getting rarer, as the days stretch on), that Cas survived an attack, and that's usually enough.

Jo asked Cas once if (s)he would've preferred staying with the boys. Castiel used to have some sort of bond with Dean, after all. Anyone with eyes could see that.

Cas simply looked at her, with those eyes that haven't changed, and said that a possessed alligator was about to attack a fisherman. Jo never asked again.

Ellen doesn't know how to treat an angel clothed as a young girl. It would've been easier, she's sure, if Cas still looked like Castiel, like a grown man, tired and weary. Those, she knew how to deal with. But everything she learned raising Jo doesn't count with Cas.

Jo sighs and hugs Ellen, and Cas keeps watch, invisible wings spread wide.

They will meet War tomorrow, and the Winchesters won't be far behind.


	292. O golden child

**Title**: O golden child the world will kill and eat

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for early season 6; future!fic

**Pairings**: past-Dean/Lisa

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 290

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, any, daddy issues

* * *

Ben Braedon grew up without a father. On his eighth birthday, he met the coolest dude ever, and tried to pretend that Dean was his dad. Two years later, Dean came back and moved in, and Ben knew his dad was home, and Mom was happy, and everything would be _awesome_ now.

He was wrong, and Dean had changed. He was harder, now, and sharper, and scary sometimes. So scary. And Mom kicked him out, and wouldn't tell Ben why, but Dean didn't come back. Not for the longest time.

Ben Braedon grew up without a father. His mom was the best ever, but Ben wondered sometimes. He still pretended that Dean was the hero he first knew, who saved him from monsters and told him how to deal with bullies and grinned so bright.

On his twenty-second birthday, only a few months away from graduation with an engineering degree, most of the paperwork done for grad school, Ben dreams about a woman with yellow eyes. She tells him he looks like his father.

He tells her to go to Hell.

She laughs and says she's already been, and they've got a nice spot picked out for the darling son of Dean Winchester.

Ben wakes shivering and calls a number he memorizes years ago, and when Bobby Singer answers, Ben says he has to talk to Dean.

Four hours later, Dean knocks on the door and Ben lets him in, and they're the same height now. Dean looks him over and smiles and says, _you grew up good, kiddo_.

He says, _tell me about the dream_.

He says, _I'm so sorry, Ben_.

Ben Braedon grew up without a father, and a part of him wishes he'd never met Dean Winchester.


	293. pain of the unextinguishable fire

**Title**: pain of the unextinguishable fire

**Fandom**: Supernatural

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton

**Warnings**: AU; Lucifer pov

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 305

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

You know how this ends. You always knew this is how it would end. So don't stand there and glare or pout or lecture me, because this... this is how it goes. How it always had to go.

You were always going to say yes.

You can't say no. You won't. Not to me, not about this. I won't say you were born for this, for me, for all that comes next. I won't say it's destiny and fate and meant to be, written in the stars. (It is, and it always has been, but you don't want to hear that.)

I also won't tell you that you'll forgive me; you won't. Not ever. Even when we're alone among the stars, a million eons or longer from now, you will never forgive me for this. And I'll never ask.

You won't understand. I know that. I can talk about saving the world, saving existence, but you don't care. You can't care, anymore. Too much has happened.

But some things have to happen, and some people have to do what needs to be done, and I won't tell you that you were born for this, but you were.

Standing there, eyes full of despair and rage, tears on your face, hatred in your heart, you know that this is always how it would end.

_Cain and Abel_, my brother said. Cain cried, too.

I was there. I was there, and I comforted Cain on those cold nights when the mark burned.

You won't forgive me, but you'll survive to loathe me for a long, tiring time.

Your brother died so that you would. (And I'll never tell you this, either, but he was born for this. To die. The perfect sacrifice.)

You say yes because he's not alive to, and that's the way it always had to go.


	294. He wears the shattered links

**Title**: He wears the shattered links of the world's broken chain

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Byron

**Warnings**: future!fic; AUish

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 140

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural; Castiel; he doesn't know yet - and he won't mean to do it - but he's going to be the one to destroy it _all_.

* * *

He was given the order, and he is a good soldier, with faith and trust and love, such utter and complete love, devotion to the Father and to Heaven and to all the choirs and all the garrisons, and he follows all orders, and he is the best, most loyal soldier, the littlest angel who could.

He gripped a soul tight and raised it from Perdition. The First Seal had already been broken.

But the last, the final Seal... could not be broken until Sam Winchester—so strong, so determined, so _righteous_ in his belief—had reached a certain point. And that certain point couldn't happen until he looked at Alistair, at his brother _broken _by Alistair...

Castiel, so brave and so mighty, gripped a soul tight and raised it from Perdition, damning all of Creation. He will never know.

(Dean will.)


	295. dying to say something unanswerable

**Title**: dying to say something unanswerable

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Sylvia Plath

**Warnings**: future!fic AU; disturbing

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 180

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: thorns

* * *

Lucifer prunes the roses himself. His servants have tried to take the task, but after a few died bloody, they let it go.

Every day, mid-morning, he spends two hours in the garden. He hums to himself, hymns and classic rock, sings a few words here and there. The moment he notices, he stops.

_Sam_, he'll say to the vessel. _Still fighting?_

_Always, _his vessel will snarl.

Lucifer will chuckle and look at his roses, flourishing in this new world of his making. Everything but humanity has flourished since Lucifer threw down God. All pockets of resistance have been destroyed and this world is good.

_No_, the vessel screams every morning. _No, Dean's alive. He is!_

Lucifer shushes him and hums a lullaby Dean used to sing, back before everything.

Sometimes, if it's an exceptionally beautiful morning, Lucifer will sing it to the roses. The vessel will cry, but quiet down to listen.

"Hush, little Sammy, don't say a word. Dean's gonna steal you a lightsaber sword. And that if sword don't gleam, Dean's gonna steal you a playground swing…"


	296. No one will speak for us

**Title**: No one will speak for us

**Fandom**: Supernatural

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov

**Warnings**: pre-series; spoilers for season 2

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 430

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: punch

* * *

Ryan had taught history for eight years before Dean Simmons strutted into his class. The kid thought he was hot shit, God's gift to women, and knew more than anyone else. Sarah said he did well in math and he was in Mona's advanced physics, but he mouthed off in Cassie's English class and always had a quip for the history lesson.

He also had a brother, apparently some sort of genius. Ryan figured that was where the insecurity stemmed from.

Three months after Dean transferred in, he missed an entire week. The little brother collected his homework and explained how sick Dean was, and he seemed more worried than the flu warranted.

Dean came back with a limp, healing bruises on his face, and a broken arm. He tried to ward off the worry by giving free rein to his sarcasm, but Ryan spoke to Mona and she was _angry_. She promised to call CPS as soon as school let out, because the flu didn't break bones or slap kids around.

Ryan convinced her to talk to Dean first. He didn't act beaten down. Mona asked Dean to meet her after school for a few minutes and Ryan leaned against the desk, providing moral support.

Mona tried to subtly probe Dean about his homelife; no one at school had ever met his parents, even though he avoided trouble by the slimmest of margins. He'd showed up for his little brother's parent-teacher conferences and all the permission slips looked suspiciously like Dean's papers.

Dean stood in front of them and sighed, slumping down. "My dad doesn't hit me," he said tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. For the first time he looked like a kid—a bruised, scared kid.

He straightened, shoring up all his walls and pulling the mask back in place. "Thanks for the concern," he said, sarcastic brat to the hilt, "but it's totally unfounded, Ms. H, Mr. G." He smiled his brilliant _I'm so awesome _grin, and strutted out.

Ryan wasn't surprised when Dean skipped the next day. Or the next. Then he heard the little brother didn't show up, either, and knew they were gone for good.

He'd think about them sometimes, wonder what ever came of them. He figured Dean died young, but the little brother made it. Dean wouldn't accept anything less.

He caught the news one night, about two brothers who held up a bank. The last name was wrong, but their faces…

"Shit," he muttered.

He hoped Mona never learned what happened to the kids they'd failed to save.


	297. The martyr's even trod

**Title**: The martyr's even trod, their feet upon temptation, their faces upon God

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Dickinson

**Warnings**: AUish; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Michael, he sides with the Winchesters

* * *

He cannot interfere until the boys return to the past to stop Anna. To do otherwise would change the flow of events, and then they might never go to the past, and then he won't realize how _wrong _Heaven has gotten, and then—then, bad things will happen.

_Father,_ he calls, _Father, please, answer me. I need guidance, Father!_

But Father does not answer, and Dean screams in Hell, writhing beneath Alistair, the Righteous Man about to break and shed blood.

Michael longs to go to him, to destroy Alistair, to soothe the human meant for him. But that is Castiel's task, and things must happen before he can step in without unmaking eons of work. Things must happen, and until Anna goes after Mary Winchester—Michael whispers, _Father, whatever Your reason… it must be worth it. I will have faith, Father._

Dean breaks. Michael watches, and waits, and does not pray again.


	298. lain sleepless with rage

**Title**: lain sleepless with rage

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich

**Warnings**: AUish; takes place during Mystery Spot; spoilers for season 5

**Pairings**: shades of Michael/Gabriel and Lucifer/Michael

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 135

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Gabriel/Michael, Mystery Spot was not about Sam. It was about Gabriel trying to kill Dean in order to make a fucking point and Michael reviving him every goddammed morning.

* * *

"Mikey!" Gabriel yells. "For Father's sake, you douchenozzle, what the fuck are you _doing_?"

"Dean has a purpose, brother," Michael says solemnly, in that some tone Gabriel remembers from Heaven. He despised it then, too.

"And that's why I'm trying to get rid of him!" Gabriel hissed. "Don't you see? With him gone, you won't have a vessel and the world won't end."

Michael's giving him the goddamned sad-eyes. Gabriel _loathes _the sad-eyes. "Without Dean, Sam won't find redemption," Michael tells him gently. "Without Sam's redemption, Lucifer will never come home to us."

Gabriel sighs. "Mikey," he replies, equally soft, "Lucifer's gone. He's been gone a long time."

"But so were you!" Michael says. "And you came back."

Gabriel slumps down. "I'm still killing Dean tomorrow," he mutters.

"And I will still revive him," Michael says.


	299. let me see the light of the sun

**Title**: let me see the light of the sun

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Gilgamesh

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: pre-Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 135

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Dean + Castiel, Dean tells Castiel he needs to pick a date for his birthday

* * *

Castiel considers carefully, pondering all the days he has existed. He was an angel for a large majority of his days; many of those days are important, in both his 'life' and Creation's history. He discards them all.

Then he thinks about the days and nights since he met Dean Winchester, since he was given the greatest task yet of his existence. All those days and all those nights, guiding Dean, guarding Dean, touching and being touched by Dean… changing and being changed by Dean.

Yes. Considering Dean, watching Dean laugh with Sam, a sound sorely missed, the choice is easy.

"My birthday," he says, catching their attention, smiling at Dean. "September 18, 2008."

Sam understands immediately, by the look on his face. And after Dean comprehends, his expression of wonder steals Castiel's still-new breath.


	300. the hurricane and the butterfly

**Title**: the hurricane and the butterfly

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU for season 6

**Pairings**: Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 560

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Cas/Sam and/or Dean, figuring out how to tell him/them that their baby, as a nephilim, is on Heaven's hit list

* * *

Castiel looks at her perfect, tiny fingers and her perfect, tiny wings, and then he meets Dean's eyes as he says, "Heaven will hunt her."

Dean's smile is bitter and sad, but his voice is even when he replies, "And that's a shock, how?"

Sam reaches out for his niece; Castiel does not want to let her go, but he carefully places her in Sam's grip, and Sam's large hands are capable around her fragile body. She sleeps, her perfect, tiny eyelids closed, and her perfect, tiny chest rising and falling. Her wings flutter; Sam's eyes follow the motion, but Dean's do not.

So much of Sam is different; Dean, too, but not in the same way.

"Heaven will hunt her," Sam whispers, one finger tracing her cheek, his whole hand spanning her back.

Castiel nods, fingers clenching from the strength of his want to hold her again, cradle her against his body, wrap himself around her, wings enclosing them both. Dean, too - pull him in, grip him tight, and rise and rise until nothing and no one can hurt them, can _touch_them, until they are far away and safe.

Safety does not exist, not for those such as them. And their daughter. She is new, she is _different_- she is the first. Change will follow where she steps, where she flies.

Her wings are so tiny. She is the butterfly who will herald a hurricane, like that proverb Dean told him once.

"My brothers and sisters will destroy her," Castiel murmurs, his so very human heart breaking again.

"Then we'll kill 'em all," Dean says, and he pulls Castiel close, kissing him gently, then fervently.

"Nothing and no one will hurt her," Sam says, and the world stills for just a moment. Sam meets Dean's eyes, then Castiel's, and then he looks back down at his niece. "Nothing and no one will hurt any of you."

She is the butterfly. Sam is the hurricane. Castiel knows that everything is different now, and Sam kisses her forehead while thunder reverberates in Heaven. The winds of change are rising.

Dean reaches for his daughter. Sam hands her over, Dean places her in Castiel's grip, and pulls Castiel back against his chest as he holds them both in his arms.

Heaven will hunt her, but they have fought Heaven before. "Beloved," Castiel whispers, staring down at his daughter. "We will give to you the world."

Dean rests his chin on Castiel's shoulder, turning his face to kiss Castiel's neck. "We'll kill 'em all," Dean promises. "Again and again, until the message sticks."

Sam's gaze is heavy on Castiel, but Castiel does not look up. Castiel no longer fears the hurricane, not while the butterfly sleeps in his arms.

Finally, Sam announces, "We need to move." Dean quickly throws together their bags, Sam cleanses their presence from the building, and the Impala roars to life beneath Dean's hands.

The sun rises as they drive. Castiel hums a lullaby, watching his daughter sleep, and her perfect, tiny wings flutter.

(In Heaven, lightning flashes. In Hell, wind shrieks. On Earth, a man sings along to Metallica, an angel listens to his daughter breathe, and a hurricane in man's skin waits for the first blow to fall.

He'll strike back so viciously a thousand angels will die.

Thunder rumbles across the world. )


	301. the best laid plans

**Title**: the best laid plans

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU; pre-series; spoilers for everything aired

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Sam/Dean, the YED bled into Dean's mouth not Sam's

* * *

He swings by four years early. His little spitfire is just too tantalizing to stay away from.

She has a kid already. He slips into the room while she's putting the baby down for the night, listens to her hum a lullaby, watches her kiss the baby's forehead. Soldier-boy is sacked out in bed and pretty Mary goes that way.

The kid's a boy. He has Mary's eyes.

He's the hunter from the future, who said he'd kill Azazel someday.

Azazel could snap his neck. Roast him, right here, right now.

Or...

_Oh, yes, _Azazel cackles.

Mary wasn't supposed to have a kid yet, and no way one of his own could kill him.

Ten drops, one for each year of the deal. The kid smacks his lips and babbles something, blinking those beautiful eyes.

Azazel laughs again and leaves as silently as he came.

.  
.

.

(Mary Winchester dies on fire, bleeding down on her second son.

A year after Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean vanishes. John panics and hurries to California, making sure Sam's safe.

Together, they find Dean in a ghost town, the last freak standing.

Azazel dies six years early, and his whole plan falls apart at the seams.)


	302. forget the glories he hath known

**Title**: forget the glories he hath known

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Wordsworth

**Warnings**: takes place at the end of season 4

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 75

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Gabriel, his reaction when he feels Lucifer returning to earth

* * *

Gabriel is swimming with dolphins off the coast of Australia when he feels Lucifer spread his wings, stepping out of the cage. _No, _he thinks, immediately losing control of the shape and sinking down down down, not even noticing until he hits the ocean floor.

_No_, he thinks again.

Lucifer's greeting blasts across Creation; there is no angel or demon who does not hear it. _Brothers,_ he calls. _Sisters. Join me or perish._

Gabriel whispers, _No_.


	303. shared blood, shared curse

**Title**: shared blood, shared curse

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: takes place in Hell; post season 5

**Pairings**: non-con Meg/Adam

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 42

**Point of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural; Meg/Adam; she's always had a thing for Winchesters.

* * *

Murmuring, _hey, pretty boy, _she circles him, caressing his skin with stolen fingers.

He shudders; of course he does. The cage was quiet, dark, and cold.

This is her workroom. Nothing is quiet, or dark, or cold.

He tastes like his brothers.


	304. Summer ends and we wonder where we are

**Title**: Summer ends and we wonder where we are

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Dar Williams

**Warnings**: AU; takes place sometime in season 5 (I think)

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 215

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural; Meg/Dean; "Don't be a sissy, Dean. Do it like you _mean_ it."

* * *

He's hesitant, fingers loose on the knife. Quick little glances at her before he looks away. Weak and pathetic.

"Don't be a sissy, Dean," she snarls. "Do it like you _mean _it."

He flinches. There is nothing of Alistair's star pupil left in him. He's just a broken man now.

She rolls her eyes, turning away. "You're not worth it," she says. Two years out of Hell have turned him soft.

"Please let Sam go," he whispers at her back. No bite. Not even a bark. Just a bag of skin walking around with shattered bones.

She laughs. "This feels like home, Dean," she purrs, tossing a smirk over her shoulder. "Bein' in Sammy again. This is where I was meant to be."

Dean's grip on the knife changes. He moves too quick to follow, and the edge is at her throat.

"You won't," she says. "You went to Hell for this boy."

"And I learned so much," he replies, caressing her skin. "Let my brother go or die in him." He smirks now, and all she can see is Alistair. "He's the Vessel, babe," Dean says. "He'll come back. You won't, not again." He tilts his head. "Maybe I'll kill you anyway."

His hand twists. She doesn't even have time to scream.


	305. perching on the soul

**Title**: perching on the soul

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 145

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, fledgling

* * *

Castiel watches with fierce determination to learn as Dean bathes the newborn, as he feeds her, as he holds her and hums lullabies.

"Wanna turn?" Dean asks, glancing up from her sleepy face. Her wings droop over his arms; they are tiny, yet. He does not see them.

"I am… I do not want to hurt her," Castiel says. He does not like this sense of nervousness. Even when he challenged Heaven, even when he faced Hell, he did not feel like this.

Dean smiles at him. "You're her dad, Cas." Dean does not say, _you'll never hurt her_. Dean does not say, _you love her too much for that_. Dean does say, "Come here and take this baby girl."

She looks up at him with bright hazel eyes. She falls asleep in his arms, and her wings flutter as she flies in a dream.


	306. the years whose sun has set

**Title**: Your song echoes clear down the years whose sun has set

**Disclaimer**: only one character is mine; title from Olga Levertoff

**Warnings**: future!fic; character death; AUish

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 260

**Point****of****view**: third

**Prompt**: Any, any, "No grave upon the earth shall clip in it a pair so famous."

* * *

_No marker. No words. A quiet field, a stretch of sky. Ashes scattered - no body._

_Ten years._

_No marker. No words. Same quiet field, same stretch of sky. Dust to dust, no body in the dirt._

_Two wingbeats and all is silence._

_Just the field and just the sky._

.

When Deanna Braedon goes looking for her great-grandfather's grave (she knows exactly where Grandma Lisa is), she doesn't find anything.

She asks Dad, but he has no clue either.

Grandpa just says, "He was a Winchester, kiddo." He smiles and he shrugs.

Deanna huffs and delves back into research.

She never does find Dean Winchester's grave. And when she decides to see if she can locate any other Winchester... no dice there, either.

When she goes back to Grandpa, he smiles. He shrugs. He looks out the window, at the sky, and he says, "Wherever they are, they're at peace. Ain't no plot of ground that could keep them restful, so they were given to the wind."

Deanna tilts her head. "Cremated? Why didn't you just say so?"

Grandpa shrugs again. "Winchesters are always cremated. I figured your research would'a turned that up."

Sighing, Deanna shakes her head. "Thanks anyway, Grandpa."

.

_Two wingbeats._

_'As you requested, Dean. It is done.' _

_A silence louder than every chorus in Heaven._

_'May you find peace, Dean. May you rest, Sam. I swear to you – as long as I exist, I shall protect all who come after you.'_

_A field, and the sky, and dust to dust – _

_Two wingbeats._

_It is done._


	307. I shall remember you with love

**Title**: I shall remember you with love

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Edna St. Vincent Millay

**Warnings**: AU during Hammer of the Gods

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 240

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Gabriel, when he sees that the pagans have a real chance of killing Lucifer, he knows on which side he stands … because it will always be his _family_ and its his _big brother_ they're talking about

* * *

Gabriel meets Dean Winchester's eyes, as Kali and Baldur and all the rest talk about killing his big brother. Then he looks at Sam.

Sam looks away, at his own brother, and Gabriel knows they know.

Neither of his brothers' vessels says a thing.

.

Gabriel is an archangel. Before he was Anansi, Coyote, or Loki, he had been God's Messenger.

Before he was God's Messenger, he had been Sammael's littlest brother. Before he was God's Messenger, Michael had taught him to fly and Sammael had taught him to prank. All of Heaven was their playground, the first three, the greatest –

Castiel has chosen humanity over his brothers. He does not yet seem to understand that his pet human will choose his own brother over everything else.

.

"Brother," Lucifer says, stepping into the room, the blood of gods on his hands.

"Brother," Gabriel replies, bowing his head.

.

Michael looks at Lucifer, at Gabriel, and asks, "Brothers?"

Lucifer nods, smiling, and eons fall away.

He is Sammael, the first and the best, and Michael is at his side, shining and glorious, and Gabriel is _home_, he is _free_, his brothers are laughing together again.

"Come, my brothers," Sammael says, holding out a hand. "I have missed the sky."

.

Gabriel meets Dean Winchester's eyes. _It was never a choice,_ he whispers directly into the boy's mind. _You understand._

Dean looks at his baby brother, and deep inside, he admits, _Yeah, I do_.


	308. if not victory

**Title**: if not victory

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Milton

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to season 5; language

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 155

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Michael, since it's him who is working 24/7 you better don't dare to tell him not use his father's name in vain. Cursing God is the only joy left in Michael's pitiful life

* * *

He knows, because of the tiny spark of his father left in him, that every time he uses _that_ name in vain, it hurts. Every time he growls 'goddamned,' every time he hisses, 'jesus _christ_, you _motherfucker_,' every time he snarls, 'god, fuckin' waste of space' at one of his brothers, at one of his sisters - it hurts their maker. God aches. God flinches.

Once, Michael had been strong, and great, and beautiful. Once, he had been the Thunderer's Fist. Once, he had been loved and feared, adored and respected.

Then Sammael threw himself from Heaven and became Lucifer, and everything changed. Everything went _wrong_.

And now, Michael is one of the few angels left, and this stubborn Winchester boy refuses to listen, and all Michael _has_ is hurting his father, the damned _bastard_ who let everything _get like this_.

Every time God flinches, Michael feels a little better, and that's better than nothing at all.


	309. before the beginning

**Title**: before the beginning

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AUish

**Pairings**: Castiel/Dean

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 155

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel (+any),

_Now I know this is strange to hear from the mouth of God  
It was something like a scene from mars  
In a struggle between loves and lies  
The angel kept his face covered for to keep his word  
And while I spoke something left from my life  
Forget about the past  
Be at rest I'll make things right  
And while I held you at best you nearly died  
Forget about the past  
And I'll try to make things right_

* * *

In his dreams (and who knew dreams existed in whatever came next?), a hundred thousand things are different.

In his dreams, Father returns him to life.

In his dreams, Dean does not turn away.

In his dreams, Father gives him Light to wield as God's Fist.

In his dreams, Dean smiles at him.

In his dreams, cradled in stardust and sky, cradled close to Father's breast, listening to the lullaby of Father's heart, he cradles Dean in his wings and hums the tune of creation, and everything unfurls for them, the beginning and before.

In his dreams, Father tells him, _be at peace, child of mine. await your awakening. you shall be returned_.

In his dreams, Dean welcomes him back with open arms and the sweetest of kisses, and calls him _my own_.

In his dreams, after the end and before the beginning, Castiel knows that things will be different, just as soon as he goes home.


	310. He Who Is Like God

**Title**: He Who Is Like God

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU at the end of season 6

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Supernatural, Dean/Cas

_Nobody said it was easy  
It's such a shame for us to part  
Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be this hard  
Oh take me back to the start_  
-"The Scientist", Coldplay

* * *

Castiel holds his head high, wings spread, hearing the voices inside him that make him Like God. His hands cover the world, all the realities, everything that is, was, and will be.

_Castiel_ is no longer his name, he decides, listening to the heartbeat of his kingdom. Even _Michael_ is unworthy, his brother who Was Like God. Michael is caged, defeated, broken. And he is not _Like _God, he realizes, smiling.

He_ Is_ God. He has _become _God, taken the world from Father's hands, and it is His, now. All is His, He Who Has Become God.

Dean, the newest Beloved of God, stares at Him. Dean's brother and Dean's sage, Samuel and Robert, stare at Him, He Who Is God. They are the beginnings of His disciples, if He but finds them worthy.

"You asked me a question, Dean," He says, "when My brothers fell into the cage. Ask it again."

Dean's eyes widen. His brother and sage look from Him to Dean, and the brother whispers, "Dean, what was the question?"

Taking a deep breath, swallowing heavily, Dean asks hesitantly, "Cas? Are You God?"

"I Am," He says.


	311. These times are past

Title: These times are past—our joys are gone

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Byron

Warnings: AU after season 3; spoilers for up to season 6

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 515

Point of view: third

Prompt: Supernatural, Gabriel +or/ Sam, After Broward County and realizing Sam wasn't going to accept his lesson, Gabriel decides to go and help Sam when Dean goes to Hell.

* * *

He waits until the kid buries Dean. He's not a brother now, but he was one for a long time, and he knows that if he steps in too soon, all that rage and despair will turn on him - and he can survive it, no question there. But the kid? He'll burn himself out.

Dean shouldn't be buried. But he watches the kid dig the hole and put his brother in the ground, and he watches the kid drive away in his brother's jacket and his brother's car, his brother's necklace around his neck, and then with a glance, he incinerates the corpse but leaves the box untouched.

What's dead should stay dead. And the kid will kill him if he ever learns, but, well.

Dean wouldn't want to come back anyway.

.

At first, he watches from afar. Things are happening that shouldn't be, things are moving, and it's all centered on the kid. Sam Winchester.

Coyote knows his brother when he sees him, and Lucifer's print is all over the kid. Just like Michael had been in Dean's blood.

There is nothing angelic or demonic that can keep an angel from slipping inside a human, if given permission.

But Coyote hasn't been an angel in a long time, and he's picked up a few tricks dirtside.

.

"Hey, Sam," he says on the three week mark. The demon's been making her way closer to Sam, and so Coyote decides it's time. He'll kill her when she shows up, but better safe than sorry, anyway.

Sam's drunk, but he looks at Coyote for barely a moment before his eyes widen. "You!" he slurs, lunging for Coyote. "You killed my brother!"

Coyote could smirk, could joke, could turn Sam into a Labrador and keep him as a pet.

Instead he hangs limp in Sam's grasp and says, "Things are happening, kid. I need you sober."

Sam's sober, but his hands tighten on Coyote's shirt. "What do you want with me?" he demands. Coyote can feel the power rising in him.

Azazel's blood. Lucifer's vessel.

Dean's brother. Dean's amulet around his neck, the tiny little charm that can summon the greatest of all things, if used right.

"There's a war coming, Sam," Coyote tells him softly. "And, I'm sorry, I really am." He doesn't say, _You'll understand, one day, why your brother couldn't be here for this._

Yeah, Sam'll understand. But he won't forget, and he'll never forgive, and Coyote loves his siblings, his brothers and sisters, he really does. But if they don't choose right, he can't save them.

Sam's not going to burn down the world. Once he's back on his feet, back fighting-fit, he's going straight for Heaven, and he's going to destroy everything that gets in his way.

Gabriel left because he didn't want to hurt his family. His family never felt the same.

Sam's brother is dead and he's not coming back.

Coyote lets his wings out and wraps them around the kid as the kid collapses, sobbing.

"I'm sorry," Coyote says again.

.

(In Hell, Dean screams for his brother and Alistair laughs.)


	312. Satan smitten with amazement fell

Title: Satan smitten with amazement fell

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Milton

Warnings: AU early in season 5

Pairings: implied Lucifer/Michael

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 365

Point of view: third

Prompt: Supernatural, Gabriel+Lucifer, Gabriel offers his big brother some surprisingly helpful relationship advice

* * *

"You know," he says, pausing to throw back a mouthful of whiskey, and then looking up at his big brother to continue, "burning this fucked up rock is not the best way to get Mikey's attention."

Lucifer's eyes burn at him, vessel's hands clenched, and oh, the ache is so sharp, how much Gabriel misses his brothers, flying together in the cosmos, when everything was new, when there were only four of them, back before. Lucifer's eyes burn, and Gabriel can see the end of things in them, but his oldest brother's voice is so soft, so gentle, when he asks, "And what would the right way be?"

Gabriel doesn't believe in happy endings anymore. Not since Dad left without looking back. And he's pretty sure Lucifer's about to kill him anyway, here in this dive bar full of corpses, because they were human and in the way.

But he misses his brothers. So he says, "I know that Michael should have chosen you. And I know he's sorry he didn't. But all he has now is Dad's final orders, and he's determined to obey." Gabriel laughs, a little sad and a lot bitter. "He thinks it'll bring Dad home."

Lucifer just looks at him. Gabriel throws back another mouthful of whiskey, sets down the glass, and squares his shoulders. He says, "You're following the script Dad left. The way to get Mikey's attention? Throw it out and do things your way."

The fire in Lucifer's eyes banks and he tilts his head. Gabriel has never been afraid of any of his brothers (only three are an actual credible threat, the only three older than him) but waiting to see what Lucifer will do – cloaked in the ether, his wings tremble.

"I'll think about your advice, little brother," Lucifer says. "And I'll be in touch."

Gabriel blinks and Lucifer's gone. He collapses on his stool, looking around at the carnage. He blinks again and they're all alive, the little humans without a clue.

He should probably go check on the Winchesters. If Lucifer's about to throw out the script… well. That douche Zach will do something stupid, without a doubt.

But first, he really could use some more whiskey.


	313. writing is hard

Title: writing is hard

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: pre-series

Pairings: gen

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 100

Point of view: third

Prompt: Supernatural, Chuck, how he decided to be a writer.

* * *

Chuck can't remember a time when he wasn't a writer, and he can't remember the day he looked at a blank page and thought, _I have to fill it in._

What he wanted, what he remembers wanting more than anything else, was to draw. Paint, or charcoal, or, hell, even _crayon_. He had so many images in his head, images he wanted to get down, images words could never convey.

But Chuck has no skill in drawing.

Words pour out of him and he has to get them down. Every single time, though, he wishes he could sketch it instead.


	314. and this is just right

Title: and this is _just_ right

Disclaimer: my characters in a world that is not

Warnings: creepy; mentions of blood and violence

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 210

Point of view: third

Prompt: Supernatural, any demon, picking out a meatsuit.

* * *

Mustn't be too old, or too short, or too pretty, or too hideous. Any of those draws attention, and mustn't draw attention until the time is right.

Mustn't have too much family; mustn't have too little. Maybe a few siblings, the better to get lost in the shuffle, or maybe no siblings at all so that no one notices when things go slightly _off_.

Mustn't be too loud or too quiet; mustn't have friends.

Perhaps a job; perhaps not. What is the endgame this time?

This time, there is a shadow blending in on a tree branch, on the far side of the playground.

This time, the endgame is to sow as much horror as possible in as short a time as possible.

This time, the meatsuit is a pretty little cherub, beloved darling of the town.

This time, a shadow whispers, _don't you want to play?_ in little Annie's ear, and little Annie's curls bounce as she nods her head, giggling with her new friend, and when little Annie turns, her eyes are as black as her new kitten's fur.

That evening, the massacre in the heart of America makes the news on every channel, and little Annie no longer has a kitten to cuddle until she sleeps.


End file.
